


Pyar dosti hai (Love is friendship)

by backonefish



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: And they travel through India to find themselves, Bollywood references, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Goa - Freeform, India, Jaipur, Louis is so gone for Harry, M/M, Nainital, Niall's the glue holding everyone together, OT5 Friendship, Smut, Tiny bit of Angst, Zayn's in love with Liam, agra, so much love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 11:40:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 39,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11161128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/backonefish/pseuds/backonefish
Summary: “We should be Julia Roberts! Go on a yoga retreat! To India!”When Zayn and Harry's thesis project hits a snag, they feel a bit hopeless. Liam's just gotten out of a relationship. Louis is stuck wondering if Harry will ever open his eyes. And Niall's still searching.This is a story of love and friendship. Of five boys who travel to India on a quest to find themselves and each other.





	Pyar dosti hai (Love is friendship)

**Author's Note:**

> This is equal parts Larry and Ziam. This is a bit more serious than I've normally written for this fandom. I hope you still enjoy it!  
> Title is a reference to Kuch Kuch Hota Hai.
> 
> Tumblr post [here](https://backonefish.tumblr.com/post/161662202631/pyar-dhosti-hai-love-is-friendship-pairing)

**July. 2010. Rome**

Six months ago when Harry was sat in History period, his teacher has passed out flyers.

_Experience history,_ they had said.

_Have a fucking fun summer,_ Harry had read.

He’d pleaded with his mum to go. Never been out of England. Wanted to see the world.

His mum had laughed and ruffled his hair. Whose money was he planning on using?

He worked in a bakery. Didn’t she know? Couldn’t she cover the rest?

She did know. She’d also been dating his now step-dad who’d insisted on covering the rest of the trip.

Six months later, Harry’s sitting on a plane, for the first time in his life. On a plane to Rome. Rome. As in _Italy,_ Rome. The Roman Forum. The Colosseum. The Trevi Fountain. The pizza. The gelato.

He pinches himself to stop the buzzing, biting his lip hard to keep the maniacal smile off his face. He’s just _so_ excited.

“Heads up,” is all the warning he gets before a bright blue snap back whizzes into the seat next to him.

A moment later, a glorious arse is in his face, as someone attempts to clamber over him.

“Sorry, sorry,” a high pitched voice belonging to the arse excuses, finally plopping down. “Oh thank god these seats are big enough. Fucking Stan said that my arse wouldn’t fit into Ryanair’s seats.”

He turns his head and Harry feels personally attacked by the blueness of the boy’s eyes. And then by his smile, which stretches across his face when he takes Harry in.

“Hiya. Are you on this trip to Italy as well?”

Harry can only nod, dumbly, caught off guard.

See the thing is, Harry Styles at sixteen, at well every age of his life, is a _charmer._ He’s the centre of attention. The loudest one in the room, the brightest star in the sky. Except. Except, he’s now just met someone who might be more than him. Brighter. Louder.

That throws him off his balance.

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” the boy prods.

Harry physically shakes his head, curls bouncing. His tongue is heavy. Thick. Slow. Very much present and non-functional.

“Uh, no. Yeah. I mean – I no. Yes, I’m on the trip to Italy?” He feels hot, his skin too small for his body with how the boy has focussed all his attention on Harry.

The boy smirks, his tone excited. “Cool! What are you looking forward to the most?”

_You_

“The Forum,” Harry says.

“Pizza for me,” the boy says.

He wriggles a bit, trying to get comfortable. Harry watches him, fascinated. He spends the rest of the plane ride enraptured by this boy.

His name is Louis.

He’s never been to Italy, but he’s been to France and Spain. This is his graduation gift from his parents.

He has _four_ sisters.

He’s a mama’s boy.

He can’t keep his hands off his fringe.

He doesn’t know how to be quiet.

He gets in trouble when he talks the entire time during the safety demonstrations, and then flips off the passenger who tells him to be quiet.

He’s loud. Sometimes, he’s abrasive.

He’s a little too much. And not enough.

Later that night in Rome, when they find out they’re sharing the same hotel room, an Italian guy chats up Louis while they wait to check in. When Louis sneaks out to meet him, Harry learns something else.

Louis likes boys.

Too.

\---

“Oof,” Louis collides into Harry’s back, barely dislodging the teen. “Curly,” Louis whines. “Move. You’re in my way.”

Harry blinks at him slowly, eyelashes dragging.

Louis waves his hand in front of Harry’s face. “Curly?”

“Yeah?” Harry asks. He sounds like he’s been drugged.

“You ok?”

Lisa, a girl from Suffolk, joins them. “This is incredible. There’s so much history in this one spot. Can you imagine that centuries ago, people lived here? Met here, prayed, shopped. _Lived.”_

“Yeah,” Harry manages, nodding his head. This place, the meaning behind it, “It’s… It’s incredible.”

“Oh, there’s Molly. She was carrying my water. I’ll see you around.” She leaves them with a wave.

“Would you like to sit, Harry?” Louis points to a rock. He’s covered in a layer of sweat, just like all of them, but he somehow manages to look glowy and not tacky.

“On an ancient rock?” Harry asks.

“Newsflash, all rocks are ancient.”

Harry pouts at him but joins him on the large rock. They’re seated in front of the Temple of Saturn, the structure amazingly still intact. Even with the cracks in the stone, perhaps because of them, the temple looks formidable.

“Today’s been a bit overwhelming for you?” Louis asks, taking a pull from his water bottle.

Harry ducks his head, sheepish. “This was what I was looking forward to the most.”

“I remember. How come?”

“What Lisa said, you know. That centuries ago, people walked these grounds. This was their meeting place. They lived and breathed and did exactly what we do today.” Harry stumbles as he explains.

“What we do today?” Louis wrinkles his forehead, trying valiantly to follow along.

“The world has changed – infrastructure, technology, knowledge. But at the core, we haven’t really changed that much. We as humans, we’re still the same. We still buy things we think are pretty. We still like to spend time with our friends. We’re still driven by our desires, our need for human contact, to fight in what we believe in. This, all this stuff here, it’s old and historical, but it’s also a reflection of society today. The world has changed, but it’s also stayed the same.”

It’s quiet for a long moment, Louis looking at Harry intently and Harry squirming under his gaze.

“That was actually quite deep, Hazza,” Louis says. “There’s more to you than those curly locks.” He punctuates his statement with a tug on one of Harry’s curls.

“Heyyy,” Harry bats his hand away. He looks down at his feet, runners marked with dust. He’s going to get an ugly shorts and socks tan line.

“You like this stuff?” Louis asks.

“What stuff?”

“History.”

“Yes,” Harry says simply. “It’s interesting to see how patterns repeat itself. How societies shape change.” It’s something he’s spent a lot of time thinking about in the past few years. Especially since he started questioning his sexuality. “What about you?”

“I guess so?” Louis hesitates. “I definitely think it’s cool. I just like living in the present, you know? Helping people who need it now. Focussing on what’s currently going on.”

“I get that.”

They sit in silence for some time, watching people stop and read plaques, taking sips from their water bottles.

“Did you know,” Harry begins, “gay sex was actually quite common in ancient Rome.”

Louis chokes on his water, turning smarting eyes toward Harry, coughing as he asks, “Why did you say that?”

“Oh.” Fuck, his mum always told him that sometimes he lets his tongue run away. “I didn’t mean. Like,” he stumbles.

“Do you have a problem with gay people?” Louis sounds timid. A bit disappointed.

“What? No!” Harry’s eyes widen in his haste to explain himself. “Why would I say it was a common thing if I had a problem with it?”

“I dunno,” Louis shrugs. “People say mean things in different ways.”

“Uh,” Harry struggles, searching frantically for the right words. He blurts, “I’m gay! Or,” he frowns, “at least, like, not straight. Still figuring it out.”

“Oh.” Louis lets out. He’s quiet again, staring at his feet. “Next time, you might want to start with that.” Then his arm is around Harry and he’s cutting off circulation with how tight he’s holding on. “Welcome to the club, Curly. If you need someone to show you the ropes, just let me know.”

Harry buries his head into Louis’ neck, hiding his blush and giggles.

The teacher who’s in charge of their little Roman vacation calls to them at that moment. They clamber up, rushing to join the rest of the group.

\---

It’s the second last night of their trip. They’d gone up to Vatican City and had spent _hours_ in the Vatican Museum. Many of the students had gotten bored after the first two hours but not Harry. Opulence, art, history, culture. The Sistine Chapel. Louis had had to physically drag him out, after the teacher had returned twice to tell them to hurry up.

He and Louis are now splayed out on their respective hotel beds, stomach’s stuffed with pizza. Authentic pizza. Harry’s convinced he can never eat pizza in England again.

“I can’t move,” Louis groans.

Harry makes some sort of noise in response.

“I should shower,” Louis says.

Harry grunts.

“All gross and sweaty. Who know Rome would be so hot?”

Harry grunts.

“D’you need the bathroom, Curly?”

Harry shakes his head.

“If you’re not going to say anything, I’m just going.” Louis warns.

Huh, he supposes Louis didn’t actually see his response. He’s already on his way to the bathroom, so Harry doesn’t bother saying anything else. He closes his eyes.

The next time he opens them, it’s because Louis hits him in the face with a wet towel. Harry groans as he stretches out his sore muscles, hopping in the shower. Even through the spray of the water, he can hear Louis’ light, airy voice singing a Hilary Duff song and he finds himself humming along with him.

“Hey, Lou?” Harry says, once Louis’ done, stepping out with a towel around his waist. “What’s it like?”

“What’s what like?” Louis asks, from where he’s thumbing through his phone.

Harry studies him for a moment. Louis’ become a fast friend since they’ve known each other. He’s never met anyone as carefree and as sure of themselves as Louis is. Someone so content and open with his sexuality. His brand of humour is snarkier than Harry’s but his kindness runs deeper. He’s all kinds of awesome, and Harry’s truly sorry that they’ll be going their separate ways in a few short days.

“Snogging a boy,” Harry clarifies, sitting on his bed across from Louis.

“Surprised you didn’t ask sooner,” Louis says.

“What?”

“I saw the way you’d look at the guys I’d flirt with.”

“Oh,” Harry blushes.

“Thought you were being homophobic,” Louis admits. “It didn’t make sense, but you confused me.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you,” Louis laughs. “You’re too nice to hate on the gays. But you also have this look on your face every time a boy talked to me. Was kind of creepy, mate.”  

“’M sorry.”

Louis shrugs it off and sits up, crossing his legs under him, facing Harry properly. “So, snogging.”

“A boy,” Harry nods. He sits up too, curious, palms a tad sweaty despite the shower.

“It’s… different.” Louis thinks carefully. “Sometimes, it’s kind of similar to kissing a girl. If there’s no facial hair and they’re smooth. You’ve done stuff with girls?”

Harry nods and thinks that through, turning the words in his head. The thought of snogging a boy who has a beard, an _older_ boy, it makes him warm inside.

“But,” Louis continues, “it’s also just, different. Like you know instantly. Just this feeling that clicks.” He frowns, “I’m sorry, Harry, I don’t think I’m doing a very good job of explaining this.”

“No,” Harry rushes to reassure him. “Makes sense.”

“How come you’ve never kissed a boy? How long have you known?”

Harry pulls at his lip, “Since I was thirteen? That’s when I started thinking about it. But Holmes Chapel is so small. I don’t know anyone else who I could snog.” 

Louis pulls at a string on his sheets and shoots Harry a furtive look, “I could do you if you’d like.”

“Oh,” Harry says, eyes wide. His palms are proper sweaty now, heartbeat starting to pick up. “Um, yeah. I – ok. If, you don’t mind. I don’t want you feeling, like, _obligated_ to.”

“Not obligated. I’m just taking one for the gays. Someone’s got to do it,” Louis says solemnly. He holds the look for a beat before breaking into a grin.

Harry giggles, still nervous but much more at ease. It’s _Louis_. “How do you want to do it?”

Louis pats his bed, “Come here.”

Harry obliges, uncrossing his legs clumsily and stepping over to Louis’ bed. He stumbles, catching himself with a start.

“Clumsy,” Louis smirks at him.

When Harry settles, he and Louis are sitting cross-legged, knees knocking into each other. There’s a valley of space between their bodies, and Harry frowns at it.

“Are we too far apart?” he asks.

Louis laughs, “Just a kiss, love. Not getting hot and heavy tonight.”

He waggles his eyebrows, causing Harry to laugh over the acceleration of his heart at the mere thought of doing more than a kiss.

“Ready?” Louis asks.

“Ready,” Harry nods, squaring his shoulders.

“K, close your eyes,” Louis says.

Harry obeys instantly, eyes falling shut. He tries to regulate his breathing, force the blood in his body to simmer and just _relax_. He can do this. It’s a kiss. Just a kiss.

Suddenly, a hand touches his cheek and he jumps. He didn’t know they were supposed to be touching, his own hands in fists on this thighs.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbles.

Louis’ breath hits his face when he laughs, sending waves of heat through Harry. “Not a problem, love. You’ve got really soft skin.”

“Not a baby,” Harry licks his lips. They should be a bit wet for this? Right?

He feels the change in Louis’ breathing, can hear how it hitches. That _does_ things to his insides, making them churn and twist.

“Didn’t say you were. I can’t grow a beard yet, and I’m older than you.” Louis’ thumb continues to stroke at his cheek, his other hand coming to properly cradle Harry’s face.

“Ready?” Louis asks, warmth hitting Harry’s lips. He shivers.

“Yeah,” Harry inhales.

Then, he feels a softness press against his lips, light and tentative, pushing carefully. It’s nice. It feels really nice.

He’s just getting used to it, when the pressure is gone and Harry’s eyes fly open. Louis’ blue are staring back at him, the lightness in his eyes doing nothing to hide the dilation of his pupils.

“You’ve got to kiss back, love,” Louis says softly.

“Right,” Harry nods, curls flying over Louis’ hands still on his cheeks. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Louis smiles.

And then his lips are back on Harry, a little more insistent. Harry’s eyes flutter close and this time, he kisses back, pressing back into Louis, relishing in how soft it is. Louis opens his mouth slightly, allowing Harry’s bottom lip to slip in between.

It clicks.

Harry draws back, gasping, eyes frantically roving over Louis. His heart is _pounding._

“Haz?”

Harry dives back in, his hands coming to clutch at Louis’ shoulders, tongue daring to reach out for Louis’. This kiss is a lot hotter, wetter, and intense, and when they part, they’re both panting.

“So,” Louis starts, a pink high in his cheeks, new shine to his lips. “That’s what snogging a boy is like.”

“’S nice,” Harry says, fingers still clutched into Louis’ shoulders, body trembling slightly. Understatement of the century. “Thanks.”

“Just doing my duty,” Louis grins.

Harry’s loathe to get up, his knees still stinging from how tightly they’d been digging into Louis’.

“Good night, Lou,” Harry smiles, dropping a quick kiss to Louis’ cheek. “Thank you.”

He crawls into bed, dreaming of blue eyes and soft lips.

\---

After they throw their coins into the Trevi Fountain, Louis clings a little more. He spends more time by Harry’s side and less flitting through the other kids. He’s quieter, content to listen to Harry ramble about Roman history and culture. They’re sharing a pear gelato on the banks of the Tiber, watching the never ending stream of tourists, when Harry realises that he’s going to miss Louis.

“I’m going to miss you,” he tell Louis.

Louis’ hand freezes, gelato dripping from his spoon. He clears his throat, “I’m going to miss you too, Curly. But you’ve added me on BBM. I’m going to message you _all_ the time. You’ll get sick of me.”

“Never,” Harry vows, trying for serious, but ends up giggling.

“Going to hold you to that,” Louis promises, spooning gelato in his mouth. “You’re right, pear is actually a really good flavour.”

“Told you,” Harry boasts. He watches Louis’ lips shape around the spoon, pink tongue darting out to catch a melting drop. It brings back memories of the kiss. Well… that insinuates that Harry had stopped thinking about the kiss.

“Can we do it again? Tonight?” Harry ventures, finger drawing patterns into the rough concrete they’re sitting on.

Louis coughs around his gelato, “Don’t be shy about it.”

“Just one more,” Harry pleads. He’s really not above begging, has no shame. “Won’t have another opportunity once I get back.”

“If you’re nice,” Louis says. “I’ll think about it.”

Harry grins, grabbing the empty cup to toss into the rubbish, “That will not be a problem.”

Despite the anticipation, or perhaps because of it, Harry dozes off on the bus ride back to the hotel, the heat making him lethargic. He’s still sluggish when he follows Louis into their room to pack up for the early flight next morning. He drags his feet up the stairs, yawning as he locks the hotel door behind him.

“Oh, hi,” Harry, smiles, blinking the sleep from his eyes when he turns around to find Louis right in front of him.

“Hi, yourself, sleepyhead.” Louis reaches out a hand to Harry’s waist, thumb dipping under his shirt to stroke tacky skin.

And then he’s kissing Harry, pressing him into the door. There’s none of the carefulness of last night, the hardness of the kiss throwing Harry off balance.

“Got to kiss me back,” Louis teases against Harry’s lips, nipping gently. “Going to give me a complex if I have to keep reminding you.”

Harry doesn’t bother with a response, bringing his hands up to angle Louis’ face just so, kissing Louis just as hard. He’s snogged girls before. This though, this is different. This is the spark to a dry bush, lighting the forest in flames. It’s consuming and ferocious, and Harry’s pushing off the door, leading Louis to a bed, falling on top of him. Their lips continue to blaze, Louis ribbing Harry’s bottom lip between his teeth, causing him to moan.

“Shh, Curly,” Louis pulls back. “They’re going to think I’m torturing you in here.”

“They’d be right,” Harry huffs, kneeling back to pull off his shirt, the heat of the day intensified with being with Louis. “This ok?”

“Moving fast?” Louis smirks, sitting up to do the same.

When they fall back into each other it’s a lot more, skin against skin. Louis’ nails dig into Harry’s back as they kiss, grounding him.

“This is nice,” Harry pants, when they surface for a breath.

“Just nice?” Louis gasps. “I’m doing some of my best work here.” He moves to knee Harry, stretching his leg awkwardly to do so.

It leaves them in a rather interesting position.

“Oh,” Harry drops his forehead to Louis’, the thrill of their hardness aligning too much to handle. “Lou.”

“Hey, babe,” Louis stills, pushing Harry’s hair back. “We can stop, yeah? No pressure.”

“No, it’s just – embarrassing. I’ve never - I didn’t mean to – get hard so fast.” His words come out jumbled, rushed in his mortification.

“In case you didn’t notice,” Louis pokes him where his dimple would be, “You’re not the only one with the problem.” He nudges their noses together, followed by their lips. “Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Can we keep snogging?” Harry asks, not yet ready to stop.

“Yeah, of course, babe.” Louis seals it with a kiss, slowing it down so their lips are moving lazily against each other.

After a few minutes of slow and careful snogging, it’s Harry who grows impatient, parting his lips and tracing Louis’ with his tongue. The wetness of Louis’ tongue sends a shiver down his spine. Compounded with the tightening of Louis’ fingers in his hair, the bolts of electricity shooting through his body leave him frenetic. Dizzy with desire.

He’s in a daze when Louis flips them over, moving to straddle Harry’s hips, breath coming out in heavy bursts. The denim of their shorts are rough over Harry’s skin, a contrast to the smoothness of Louis’ torso, looming over him.

“Can’t let you do all the work, can I, Curly?” Louis teases, brushing Harry’s hair from his forehead.

It’s a sweet gesture that should be incongruent in the setting, but it fits Louis so well. 

“More,” Harry mumbles, fingers scrambling at Louis’ skin.

They hold on tight a second later, when Louis ducks down to bite at Harry’s neck, running a hot tongue over the faint stinging. Louis continues to kiss softly just behind Harry’s ear, sending waves of unexplained pleasure coursing through his body. He didn’t even _know_ he was so sensitive there, whining when Louis’ clever tongue licks out.

“Can I leave a mark?” Louis whispers in his ear.

Harry nods, not trusting himself to speak. He whines high in his throat, Louis nipping at his skin. He can feel the heat roiling inside, and he buries a hand in Louis’ head, unable to keep still. His back arches when Louis bites down hard. Harry tugs Louis back to him, kissing him with renewed intensity. Louis shifts suddenly, bringing the cocks back into alignment. Harry jerks his head back, chest heaving with how _amazing_ it feels.

“Fuck, I’m so into boys,” Harry gasps out, eyes flying open.

“Yeah?” Louis laughs lightly. His lips are swollen red, his eyes so dark, they’re almost black. He’s beautiful.

He chooses that moment to experimentally flick at Harry’s nipple, causing Harry’s hips to buck wildly off the bed.

“Interesting,” Louis bites his lip, doing it again.

Harry can feel how wet he’s getting, his cock trapped through all the layers of clothes. He brings Louis’ lips back to his, tremors running down his body every time Louis thrusts against him. They’re small, barely discernable movements, but it explodes galaxies in Harry’s body, spurring him on to meet Louis’ tentative thrusts with his own.

Each time they come together, Harry leaks more. The kisses grow unrefined, hands clutch deeper into skin, hair tugged harder. Their noises grow louder, hips moving more erratically. Until –

“Louis,” Harry tears apart harshly, a little bit fearful, a little bit embarrassed at how soon it is. “Lou, I think I’m going to –

“Do it, babe,” Louis urges, pinching at Harry’s nipple. “Come.”

Like a string cut taut, Harry snaps, his back arching off the bed, muscles tightening as he releases into his pants.

“So hot,” Louis garbles, continuing to move against Harry, who’s too strung out. “Fuck,” he moans, chasing his own orgasm, riding it out against Harry’s leg.

They struggle to regain control over their breathing, unconsciously timing it to the other’s. When Harry can think again, he runs a weary hand through Louis’ sweaty nape.

“Came in our pants.”

Louis folds his arms on Harry’s chest to peer down at him, “Yes we did. Do you regret it?”

“Course not!” Harry looks scandalised that Louis would even suggest a thing. He grins wide, dimples etched deep into his cheeks. “It was great.”

“Good,” Louis responds, leaning down to softly kiss Harry’s lips.

\---

They promise to keep in touch when they head back to England; Harry to Holmes Chapel, Louis to Doncaster. They try to meet up with no success, plans falling through at the last minute, to no one’s fault. They message as much as they can, Louis ending each night with the tried and tested BBM hug emoticon that leaves Harry smiling into sleep.

Until, Louis moves away to Manchester for university and Harry starts up school again. Louis gets busy with classes and new people, the frequency of his messages dying out. There’s a new kid in Harry’s school, who he befriends. When he goes to her birthday party, a few of her friends from her old town visit. Turns out one of them is gay.

When Blackberries are no longer the ‘it’ phone, Harry swaps his for the latest thing. He’s transferring contacts when he realises he never actually took down Louis’ phone number. His BBM is no longer functional, the last thing in his chat a string of silly emoticons that he and Louis had exchanged months ago.

He sighs. At least he’ll always have fond memories of that week in a summery Rome, where he first kissed a boy. A boy with blue eyes and red lips and a warm heart.

\---

**September. 2016. London**

“Ready?”

Harry turns to his boyfriend and frowns. “Yeah. I still don’t understand why I have to wear a button up and trousers to go to the bar.”

Carl sighs, “Just a special night. My friends from work are celebrating something.”

Harry bites back a retort about Carl’s friends from work. Carl has too many friends from work, an ever revolving bunch, whose names Harry can’t keep straight. And he’s _good_ with names. Might have something to do with how they’re always a different group of people. He’d brought this up before and Carl had said that nurses work in shifts. It wasn’t his fault he worked with a different group every time.

“Ready?” another voice asks.

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry grumbles. He’s not sure why he’s in such a horrible mood. Maybe because there had been so much infighting on Tumblr and that always sets him off. He’s been looking forward to a night in, with a bottle of wine and a classic movie. Probably, _She’s the Man._

He looks up at his flatmate, and research partner, taking in Zayn’s simple black jeans and worn band t-shirt. _Boyband_ t-shirt.

“K, why does Zayn get to wear that?” Harry grits out.

“Zayn’s not my boyfriend,” Carl says. “Come on, we’re going to get late.”

“I think,” Zayn whispers in Harry’s ear, when he trails behind them, “the question to ask is ‘why is Zayn coming?’”

Harry snorts and elbows him in the stomach. Carl had insisted on Zayn being there too, saying it would be _fun._

They take the tube to a small, hole in the wall pub that is mostly filled with people who work at the hospital nearby. It’s rather crowded tonight, voices muffled when Carl introduces Harry to yet another new set of people. He smiles pleasantly, repeating their names, and then promptly forgetting them. Not like he’s going to see them again.

“Gonna grab a pint,” Harry points to the bar, saying it louder when Carl looks at him confused. “Do you want anything?”

Carl shakes his head, blonde tresses flopping into his eyes. He’s cute, for sure. He’d be cuter if he was sitting on Harry’s sofa right now and not standing in a crowded pub.

Harry fights his way to the bar, eying down a bleach blonde hottie.

“What can I get for you?” the bartender asks.

Irish. How adorable.

“Kilkenny,” Harry smirks.

The bartender catches his eye and chortles at him. A moment later, he sets down a pint in front of Harry, extending his hand.

“Niall.”

“Harry.”

“Dating the tall blonde in the middle of the group back there,” Zayn sidles up beside Harry.

“You?” Niall, the bartender, looks confused.

“No,” Zayn shakes his head, pointing at Harry. “Him.”

“I wasn’t flirting,” Harry rolls his eyes. “Just being friendly.”

Zayn nods while Niall throws his head back in laughter. He grabs Zayn’s order, moving to the taps to fill it up.

It’s too crowded here. Harry’s skin itches, his tired eyes frowning at the dim lighting. People are chatting in groups, unnecessarily shouting at each other. He’s too sober for this, just thankful that no one’s bothering Zayn and him in their little corner at the bar.

“Ugh,” someone says.

Harry sighs into his pint, two men coming to rest beside them. He must have jinxed their solitude.  

“Remind me why we’re here again?” one of the men says, in a light, airy voice, a bit scratchy around the edges.

Harry stills, his pint half way through his mouth. _That voice._

“Because,” the other one says, this voice smoother, deeper. “Carl asked us to.”

“That’s stupid. We’re not even friends with Carl. We don’t like Carl.”

“ _You_ don’t like Carl because he’s too tall. And he turned you down when you tried to hook up with him. Carl is a perfectly nice lad. Behave.”

“Sod off,” the first voice grumbles. “Who works here? If I have to stick this out, I need to be sloshed.”

Zayn’s staring at Harry with big eyes, shoulders shaking from trying not to laugh. Harry is shaking for an entirely different reason, a deep buzzing in his bones. It can’t be. It _can’t._

He cranes his head around Zayn’s shoulder, eyes landing on two men. The one with his back to them has short shorn hair and broad shoulders. The other one, the _other_ one, he’s got a caramel coloured fringe, shaggy and swooping low into his eyes. Even in the low light, his eyes are impossibly blue.

_Louis_

“Louis,” his friend admonishes. “Be nice.”

Harry leans further over the counter, practically stretching his body around Zayn, to get a better look.

“Haz,” Zayn begins, the only warning before Harry’s beer gets knocked over, liquid spreading over the counter and spilling on to the floor. Zayn jumps back, colliding into the broad shouldered one behind him, but Harry can’t be bothered.

Because at that moment, Louis looks up.

His eyes meet Harry’s.

Harry will swear on his life, that then, right then, time stood still.

_“Harry?”_ Louis breathes, mouth hanging open. They must look ridiculous, identical looks of shock on their faces, frozen as they stare at each other. Beside them, Zayn and Louis’ friend keep shooting them looks of confusion.

“Louis,” Harry laughs, wonder and giddiness evident in it. It spurs him into action, exuberance knocking down the bar stool when he leaps off it and covers the minimum distance it takes to get to Louis. He doesn’t even think, pulling the smaller boy into his arms.

“Fuck, Curly, how?” Louis stammers, eyes still huge when they draw out of the hug. He lifts his head to look up at Harry, quickly narrowing his eyes. “How did you get so tall?”

“Heard you don’t like tall guys,” Harry laughs. Again. God, he can’t seem to stop laughing right now. It’s _surreal._

“I,” Louis shakes his head, gaze roving over Harry in long sweeps. “I – what are you _doing_ here?”

Harry tries to come up with an answer, and gives up when his brain doesn’t seem to be functioning. Instead, he pulls Louis into another hug, letting himself sink into it. He mustn’t, but somehow, Louis still feels the same under Harry’s hands. Like they just _fit._

There’s an incessant tapping at Harry’s shoulder. Harry shrugs it off, not yet ready to stop hugging Louis. It’s _Louis_. It’s been six years. Sometimes, he finds his thoughts wandering back to the summer in Rome, wondering what Louis was doing in his life. Where he was. If he was dating anyone. How his sisters were doing. And now – now Louis is actually _here._ Whoever is demanding his attention, can wait.

The tapping continues, getting more insistent.

“What,” Harry snaps, reluctantly pulling out of the hug.  

Zayn points a finger to the make shift stage, at the other end of the pub. Where Carl is standing in front of an expectant crowd, mic in his hand. He’s also talking.

“… out tonight. It means a lot to me, to have so many of my close friends here.”

Beside Harry, Louis snorts, “How do you know Carl?”

“Many of you already know and love my boyfriend, Harry, who’s standing at the back.”

Every pair of eyes in the pub turn toward Harry, who stares back in mortification. Louis’ hand falls from the small of his back, taking away all its warmth and comfort.

“Oh, awkward,” Louis mumbles, taking a step away from Harry.

Harry wants to laugh. Wants to agree, that fuck, _yes,_ this is awkward.

But Carl is still talking. “Of course, none of you love Harry like I do. Because none of you know him like I do.” He laughs a little. A few uncomfortable chuckles join his.

_What. The. Fuck. Is Carl doing?_

Harry looks at Zayn pleadingly. He looks just as lost and bewildered. And really? Harry feels like he’s just been served the strongest whiplash, the joy and elation of seeing Louis again warring with the absolute confusion and annoyance toward Carl.

“Harry is the love of my life,” Carl continues. He’s too far away for proper eye contact, so Harry just gawks helplessly. “He’s been there for me, taking care of me. Cooking, cleaning – just the works.”

Harry fights the urge to cross his arms across his chest. Carl’s just making him sound like his personal servant.

“When something that good comes around, some _one_ that good, they tell you to keep them. Snatch them up as fast as you can.”

Who says that? No one says that!

Carl’s now walking off the stage - that’s really just a platform two inches off the ground – toward Harry. The time it takes him to cross the crowd is too long. When he gets to Harry and drops to one knee, Harry realises the time was not long enough.

“Harry E – uh –

“Edward,” Louis supplies.

Carl nods, holding out a thin silver band, “Harry Edward Styles, will you marry me?”

\---

“Well, that was awkward,” Louis says brightly.

It had taken the pub a stunned moment after Harry had silently dragged Carl out, to get moving again. The volume had returned to its previous levels, everyone clearly talking about the failed proposal they had just witnessed. Poor Carl. Tosser deserved it though. Who proposes after five months of dating?

“How long were they dating?” Louis asks.

Zayn opens his mouth to answer, but it’s Louis’ friend who gets to it first, “Five months.”

Louis’ eyes bug, “What the fuck is his problem?”

Zayn studies him. He’s not sure how he and Harry know each other, but he decides he could like him.

“Louis,” his friend nudges, eyeing Zayn.

“What?” Louis rolls his eyes, “I’m not going to be nice to an idiot who can’t even remember his boyfriend’s own middle name. Sorry mate,” he shoots at Zayn.

Which, now that Louis brings it up, “How do _you_ know his middle name?”

“Met Harry on this trip to Rome. When he was sixteen,” Louis says.

“Must have been some meeting,” Zayn raises an eyebrow.

“Shit, Lou,” his friend’s mouth drops open. “That’s _the_ Harry?”

“Wait,” Zayn narrows his eyes. He’s always been protective of Harry. “He’s which Harry?”

Louis sighs, resigned, “We lost our virginity to each other.”

Zayn frowns, memories of late nights and deep talks coming together. “No, Harry said he lost his virginity to an older boy. Someone who knew what he was doing. Showed him how to be with guys.”

“Yeah, about that,” Louis rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, “Harry just assumed I was experienced, because I used to flirt.” His friend snorts. “And I kind of didn’t correct him?”

Zayn shakes his head, unsure of what to do with the information. Given the situation, he really doubts it’s all that relevant. Or important. He cranes his neck toward the back door that Harry and Carl had disappeared to, wishing he was out there. Punch Carl in the face. Not that he condones violence, but Carl’s always been a bit of a wanker.

“Uh,” Louis’ friend says, after a moment of silence, Zayn silently fuming. “I’m Liam. Carl’s co-worker. This is Louis. Blast from the past, my flatmate, and another one of Carl’s co-workers.”

“Zayn,” Zayn takes Liam’s proffered hand. It’s surprisingly big and warm. “Harry’s flatmate. And thesis partner.”

“Cool!” Liam says, sounding like that is genuinely cool information. It leaves Zayn on strange ground, not used to such sincere earnestness. “What’s your thesis on?”

Zayn doesn’t get a chance to say because Harry chooses that moment to return, hair windswept with the autumn weather. Zayn gathers him into his arms, rubbing his back.

“Where’s loverboy?” Louis asks.

Zayn frowns, unsure if it’s Louis’ place to even be joking about this. Liam slaps Louis upside the head.

“Sorry, sorry,” Louis says.

“What did you say?” Zayn looks at Harry, ready to whisk him off if he needs.

Harry shrugs. He looks upset, though not overly so. “Told him it had only been five months. Much too soon. He said we either move forward - or, just, not.” Harry looks at Zayn with pleading eyes, like he needs him to understand his actions. Doesn’t he know Zayn would always pick his side? “I had to say no. He didn’t even know my middle name!”

“That’s what I said!” Louis crows. This time, he dodges Liam’s hand expertly.

“I’m surprised you remembered,” Harry smiles at Louis. Interesting. But still –

“Should we go home?” Zayn asks.

“You,” the blonde bartender – erm… Niall – pokes his head through, “should get drunk.”

“Sorry, Niall, as much as I really want to drink away this night,” Harrys grins wistfully, “I’m really not up for staying here.”

“Not _here_ ,” Niall shakes his head. “Come to my pub. Just a few minutes away.”

The other four fix him with identical looks of confusion.

“Uh… but you work here?” Harry flounders, looking at Niall behind the bar.

“Oh, don’t be silly,” Niall clambers over the bar top to usher them out the door. “I walked in for a pint. Don’t really like drinking around me employees, you know? Saw that it was busy, so I decided to help out.”

“You just, what?” Liam asks, holding the pub door open, “Went over the counter and started filling up drinks?”

“Yeah!” Niall grins toothily at them. “Come on, this way.”

The others look at each other and then at the blonde Irish, who’s now donned a page-boy hat. Frankly, given the night they just experienced, following him seems like a good idea.

\---

**April. 2017. London.**

Zayn trails behind Harry into Louis’ and Liam’s flat, both a little moody and a lot upset. They’d contemplated not joining the lads for a movie night for a mere second, before they remembered that being around the others would do them good.

Pizza’s already on the table when they get there, Niall supplying the beer as always. Zayn grunts a ‘hi’ to the boys, grabbing a slice for himself, curling into Liam. The second he feels Liam’s nose nudge into his hair, he relaxes, letting out the stress of the day. On the floor in front of him, Harry’s spread his legs out, head resting against Louis’ knee. His eyes are closed and a small smile graces his face, Louis’ hand scratching slowly at his scalp. Zayn tucks his own smile into Liam’s arm.

Niall’s put on _Eat, Pray, Love_ since he decided six months ago, on the night that brought the five together, that the way to fix a broken heart was through Oprah. Drunk Harry had insisted his heart _wasn’t_ broken, but drunk Niall listened to no one. He’d made them all vow to join in his quest of mending Harry’s heart by working their way through Oprah’s recommended movies. Drunk all of them had thought it sounded like a good idea.

Sober Niall was a firm believer in keeping promises. Even drunken ones.

Which brings them to today.

“Harry,” Niall says, a minute in, “you’re not eating.”

“Not hungry.”

Niall pauses the movie, looking worried. “Is everything alright?”

“Peachy.”

Zayn snorts. Harry’s the worst when he’s in one of his moods.

“What’s going on?” Louis tilts Harry’s head so he’s looking at him.

“’S nothing,” Harry insists.

Zayn groans, “Just tell them, Haz. Not like it’s a secret.”

“It’s upsetting,” Harry shoots back. “I don’t want to ruin the mood.”

“You already are,” Zayn glares at him.

“It’s not like you’re doing any better,” Harry turns bodily, eyes flashing.

“Lads,” Liam raises his voice. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” Harry repeats.

Zayn rolls his eyes. Harry’s stubborn to the core. He’s had five years of getting to know Harry past his dimples and easily turned on charm. He’s faced the brunt of his anger, the silence of his obstinacy. He’s not as easily scared as the others.

“Lisa got her way,” Zayn says.

“Fuck you,” Harry turns back to face the TV, his arms crossed.

“She’s sending out the survey?” Liam’s face falls.

“That’s utter crap,” Louis objects, angrily. He turns to Zayn, “Didn’t you say anything?”

“Hey, what the fuck?” Zayn glowers.

“Zayn tried, Lou,” Harry speaks up. “It’s not his fault. He actually yelled at the committee and then walked out of the meeting. I thought he’d get fired.”

“Could still happen,” Zayn says drily. Like he was just going to sit there and take it. Harry’s gotten better at standing up for himself, no longer the young kid who let his Anthropology partner take the credit for work that Harry had done. Sometimes though, when things get too intense, he reverts to silence, instead of speaking up when he needs to. Closes in on himself. Like now.

“No, you won’t,” Harry turns back to him, looping fingers around his ankle. “Won’t let it.”

“As great as this is,” Louis gestures between Zayn and Harry, “can you please fill us in on the meeting?”

Zayn simply raises an eyebrow at Harry, who sighs, but explains.

Four years ago, an alternative-universe fanfiction for YouTube star, Alexiz, blew up. It crossed fandoms and genres, and the story was given a book deal. When _Midnight_ was released, shit hit the mainstream fan. It was different, it was edgy. It was real. It was touted as the next _Harry Potter._

But _Midnight_ was different. The main character was a girl, for starters. A girl who broke all stereotypes. A girl who fought with dragons and gender norms. Who studied hard and partied equally as hard. She was real, unapologetic, and wild.

She was also gay.

Nineteen year-old Harry had introduced Zayn to the series and the two quickly fell in love with the books. They became a part of the _Midnight_ fandom, frequenting the different online platforms for fans. Harry’s favourite had been Tumblr. _It’s like a society of its own, Zayn! They elect their own leaders. A year ago, midnight_forever was this small blog. Now, people turn to her for advice. Anything she says suddenly becomes gospel._ Or, _Zayn, they identify with Midnight. She makes them feel safe in their sexuality._

Until one day, Zayn got fed up, and told him to study it if he found it so fascinating. One thing led to another and Harry’s PhD supervisor, Jack, had loved the idea of studying the _Midnight_ fandom through an anthropological lens. His wife, Lisa, happened to be Zayn’s PhD supervisor who was already studying the impact of fanfiction on published literature. She appointed Zayn to work with Harry, with an emphasis on _Midnight_ fanfiction, its influence and impact.

Four years ago, no one imagined that Lisa and Jack would be going through a messy divorce. That Lisa would use her anger toward her husband to ruin his work, and subsequently, his students. By insisting that Zayn administer a survey about fandom’s experience with fanfiction, she was breaking a cardinal rule of the study – to only observe and not interfere.

“I don’t know what this means for my research,” Harry shakes his head. “If the fandom knows they’re being studied, they’re going to change the way they behave. And the last book is due in fall. I can’t risk ruining years of data with this one survey.”

“I won’t do it,” Zayn says. Julia Robert’s face is paused on a very unattractive shot. “I won’t let her do it.”

“I hate fighting. It’s draining,” Harry rubs his eyes. “Can we just watch the movie?”

Louis goes back to playing with Harry’s hair and Zayn snuggles further into Liam. Wordlessly, Niall presses play, pulling out his little notebook from his pocket.

\---

When Zayn found out about nursing shift work, he’d visibly flinched. _How could you stay awake through the night?_

_You get used to it_ , Liam had said.

The next day, Liam had called at eight in the morning after a twelve hour night shift, too cheerful and perky. Zayn had tried multiple alarms in his life, yet none had been as effective as Liam’s voice early in the morning. As a thank you waking him up so easily, he’d told Liam to drop by, so he could make him breakfast.

Six months later, it’s kind of tradition.

“Where’s Harry?” Liam asks from where he’s toeing his shoes off at the door.

“You wound me, Leeyum,” Zayn exaggerates. “I thought you came to spend time with me.”

“You’ll suffice, I suppose,” Liam smiles.

Zayn instantly freezes, putting the kettle down. “What’s wrong?”

“I hate that you can do that,” Liam sighs.

It’s in his eyes. Zayn has never met anyone with eyes as expressive.

“Jane again?” Zayn picking the kettle back up and pouring hot water into the mugs. He adds the steaming mugs to the plates filled with eggs and beans on toast.

“Well, for the last time,” Liam tries to shape his lips into smile. He should _really_ not attempt to smile when he doesn’t mean it.

There’s a part of Zayn that’s currently dressed in sunglasses, a feathered boa, and glittery boxer shorts, doing cartwheels and blowing on trumpets. There’s another part, the one that’s actually real and not in his head, that puts down his fork, rounds the table and pulls Liam into a hug. Liam’s just as warm as the first time he shook Zayn’s hand, just as solid and comforting.

It’d be good to remember that he’s the one who’s supposed to be giving Liam comfort.

When he sits back down, Zayn moves his scrambled eggs around the plate for a while, before he finally says, “If it helps, I think you made the right decision.”

“I think so too.”

They work their way through breakfast, Liam a lot quieter than normal. Zayn sits across him, cataloguing the tiny pinch between his brows, how his obnoxiously pink lips are pulled down at the end. He searches through his mind for ways to cheer him up.

“Oh, wait here,” Zayn grins, the perfect idea growing in his head.

He scurries to his room, rummaging at the bag he’d tossed under his bed after Trisha and Yaser had dropped by that weekend. He pulls it out with a hard tug, rushing back to Liam’s side at the table, brandishing the bag with flourish.

“What is that?” Liam looking curiously at the bag in Zayn’s hand.

Zayn drags Liam up with his other hand, moving the sofa out of the way so there’s room on the carpet. He’s too excited to dramatize his moves, upending the bag with a quick turn of his hands.

“Are those…?” Liam’s voice turns up at the end, a mixture of excitement and incredulity.

“My old G.I. Joes,” Zayn smiles toothily at him. “Mum and Dad brought it with them when they visited this weekend.”

“Oh,” Liam says flatly.

Zayn’s heart plummets. This was supposed to cheer Liam up. He’d been so _sure._ “I thought you’d like them.”

“No! I do like them,” Liam rushes to explain. He scuffs the back of his head, looking slightly embarrassed. “It’s just, your parents had promised they’d see me the next time they were in London. Your mum said she’d make me lamb chops and Yaser was going to get me some of his weights. ‘S nothing.” He tries to smile again, and really, this boy needs to stop faking it.

Zayn rolls his eyes, fondly. “They were in a hurry and told me to give you their love. Your lamb chops are sitting in fridge and the weights are exactly where dad left them. Too heavy for me to carry and Haz was too lazy to even try. Think that was an excuse. I’m sure he couldn’t lift them either.”

Liam doesn’t bother trying to play it cool, his face lighting up at the news. He rushes to the plant where Yaser had dropped the weights by, picking them up easily and placing them by his shoes at the door. Zayn’s mind wanders to ways in which Liam could pick him up that easily, snapping out of it when he remembers that Liam’s just gotten out of a relationship. It’d be good to think with his head and not his dick right now.

“So,” Zayn settles, sorting through nearly 50 of his G.I. Joes. “Wanna play?”

Hours later, the flat is completely ransacked. There are strings going from windows to pieces of furniture, bowls of water laid out precariously to act as lava, socks designating areas of quicksand. Pillows create forts and shelters for their men. At the base of the door to Zayn’s bedroom sits his teddy bear, the prize they’re fighting for. It’s perfect.

“Ready?” Liam asks, his troops positioned strategically around the terrain. His eyes are bright and he looks happy, Jane clearly not on his mind.

“Ready,” Zayn affirms, his own men hidden from Liam’s sight.

The door opens and Harry and Niall walk in.

“Is that my pot?” Harry narrows his eyes at a pot with a spatula tied to its handle.

“Not just your pot,” Zayn says pointedly.

Harry flips him off.

“It’s a great catapult,” Liam explains. He takes a ball of rolled up tissue from a pile next to him and places it in the spatula. With extreme precision, he bends the spoon back and lets go. The tissue arcs through the air and hits Zayn in between his eyes. “Need three hits to kill off one man.”

“Brilliant!” Harry crows, settling down beside Liam. “I’m on your team.”

“Where’s Louis?” Zayn ask, shifting from his spot to make room for Niall.

“Got a shift today,” Liam answers.

“This pillow is going to do nothing to protect our men,” Niall assesses, eyes roving over Zayn’s safety base. “Hold on.”

He disappears into the kitchen for a minute, returning with a stack of potatoes in his hand.

“Potatoes?” Zayn looks at Niall skeptically.

“I’m Irish,” Niall says as a way of explanation. “Trust me.”

The next couple of hours unravel into battle, toys hanging off strings, fallen ones strewn across the room. The bowls of water are half empty, pools of wet carpet surrounding them due to the huge splash the dolls created when they fell in. Zayn and Niall have two remaining men a foot away from the teddy bear when they’re hit in succession with six balls of tissue.

“Victory is _ours_ ,” Harry yells, hauling himself over the sofa. He navigates a tiny British Action Man in a tank across the floor, knocking over a bowl of water in the process. Liam follows behind him with two men on a horse, righting the bowl. Niall and Zayn can do nothing but watch, out of ammo and men, as Liam and Harry lift the bear victoriously in the air. They follow it up with a complicated handshake that ends in the two of them rubbing their bums together.

Zayn has no idea when they found the time to think it up and perfect it. It’s worth it though, just to hear the bright laughter from Liam and see the genuine smiles on his face.

Zayn can tell because Liam has the most expressive eyes.

\---

“I’ve been thinking,” Harry says, while they wait in line at Pret. When Louis’ having a tough shift, he’ll text Harry with a simple BBM emoticon. They’d downloaded the app days after reconnecting, for a laugh and to reminisce. Now, it’s Louis’ way of speaking without really saying anything. Harry knows, when he sees the tiny BBM notification, that Louis needs a distraction. Today, Harry had welcomed the drooling yellow face. He needed a distraction too.

“That’s never a good thing,” Louis jokes.

“Heyy,” Harry pouts. “You should be thankful I made time to come see you today.”

“So thankful,” Louis mocks. He leans into Harry’s side, so it kind of negates his tone.

“Your scrubs are a little big on you,” Harry observes.

“Yeah,” Louis wrinkles his nose at his scrubs. “Patient vomited all over me. Had to do a quick change and there was none left in my size.”

“You mean a small?” Harry grins, wickedly.

“I will leave you here, all by yourself, Harold,” Louis threatens.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Harry says easily. “Anyways, I was saying.”

“You’ve been thinking.”

“I have. I have been thinking. We should go on a trip.”

“Who? You and me?” Louis’ voice creeps up oddly at the end.

“And the lads. A proper lads’ holiday.”

“Are you trying to run away from your problems?” Louis arches an eyebrow perfectly. Harry frowns at him. He’d been practising that move in the mirror for months and he still can’t do it.

“Not running away,” Harry drags out. “Merely, taking a break.”

“No luck on Lisa’s front?”

Harry sighs, “Turns out she’s sleeping with the head of the ethics committee.”

“Harold!” Louis cackles, pinching his nipple. “You waited a whole ten minutes to tell me that?”

“Zayn actually told me this a couple of days ago.”

“How did he find out?” Louis looks much too delighted at the news.

“The undergraduate student working with Zayn – you remember Troy – walked in on them. Poor kid,” Harry says after placing their order for tea, “was traumatized for weeks. I think he was personally offended when he found out what Lisa was doing. Told Zayn the next day.”

“Good lad,” Louis picks up their teas, handing Harry his. “Doesn’t Lisa’s part of the study get ruined too, with this survey?”

“Not really,” Harry takes a seat across from Louis, brushing someone’s left over crumbs off the table. “Zayn’s done most of his data collection. The survey would actually be a good way to tie up any lose ends, clarify certain things. It’s just anthropologically speaking, it would kind of be a bummer.”

“A bummer,” Louis repeats, biting his lip.

Harry kicks him under the table. He smiles into his tea before taking a sip.

“The lads’ holiday,” Louis prods.

“It’s been ages since I’ve travelled,” Harry explains. “I want to see another culture.”

Louis nods slowly, “I’m up for it. It can’t be anytime soon though. I’d have to switch some shifts around. I suspect Liam would have to as well.”

“Yeah?” Harry breaks out into a large grin, dimples coming out to say hi.

Louis’ answering smile is just as big, and Harry relaxes in it.

\---

They’re at _This Town._ The first time Niall had brought them to his pub, Liam had asked _what town?_ Niall had refused to serve him beer for the first thirty minutes. The second time, Harry had ventured the same question, _after_ he already had his pint. Niall had taken his drink away. The third time, Louis had asked after he’d finished _two_ pints. Niall had kicked him out. A week later, when Niall had been particularly homesick, he had stood on a stool and waxed poetic about the many charms of Mullingar. Zayn had pulled out a seat for him, thrown a casual arm over Niall’s shoulders and asked _so, Mullingar?_

There’s a video of the kiss Niall had planted on him, on Louis’ phone. It had been very wet, given Niall was sobbing about how _only Zayn understood,_ and very long, given Zayn didn’t know how to push away a crying Niall.

Six months later, and Liam still gets a little stony when they bring it up.

It’s a tad crowded tonight, not enough stools at the bar. Louis opts to stand behind Harry, waiting for one to free up. With the way he’s plastered to Harry’s back, Zayn figures it’s just an excuse for him to hang off Harry.

“Sure,” Niall says.

“You don’t want to know why?” Harry asks. He often confides in Zayn when they’re walking home, a little tipsy, that he thinks Niall is too trusting.

“You need a break.”

“Well, yes, but,” Harry sputters. “Is it that obvious?”

Louis’ cackles behind him, carding his hands through Harry’s hair.

“I could do with a break too,” Liam offers, taking some heat off Harry. Zayn runs a hand up Liam’s back.

“That’s because you work hard,” Niall counters, writing something down in the small notebook he keeps in his back pocket. No one brings up the break up with Jane.

“Hey!” Harry objects. “I work hard. Zayn does too. Zayn, tell him you work hard.”

Zayn laughs, reluctantly moving his hand from Liam’s back. “I’m good, babe.”

“You work very hard, Hazza,” Louis says. Harry tilts his head up to smile at him. If Louis leaned down a bit more, they’d be in a really cute Spiderman kiss.

“Not that I’m opposed to travelling, but aren’t there other ways to relax?” Niall asks, directing a customer to Billy, the other bartender on tonight.

“Like what?”

“Sex, for one,” Niall suggests.

Zayn watches how Louis’ hands tighten in Harry’s hair and how Harry’s eyes flutter in response. He wonders if either know what they’re doing.

When Harry opens his eyes, they’re a little hazy. “I don’t like one night stands. It’s only good when you _really_ know the person, when you have a connection. A promise for more. Otherwise it’s just mediocre sex.”

Louis’ fingers still in Harry’s hair, hand lifting off.

Zayn wonders if Louis ever got around to telling Harry that he’d been a virgin too, back in Italy.

Harry whines, nudging his head up against Louis’ hand. Louis returns to his task, slowly moving his fingers.

“Yoga is relaxing,” Liam says.

Louis wrinkles his nose.

“Yoga is relaxing,” Niall agrees, head bent over his notebook again. He looks up to send another two customers to Billy.

“We should be Julia Roberts! Go on a yoga retreat! To India!”

Zayn laughs into his pint. Harry gets this look on his face when he’s excited by what he’s saying, his eyebrows flying high, eyes alive, and dimples deep.

“Could we do other stuff too?” Louis asks.

“Yeah!” Harry’s on a roll. “We can go to Goa. Oh, I’ve always wanted to go. Please, we can get some beach time in.”

By now the feeling’s spreading, Liam jumping in to suggest going to the Taj Mahal. After Niall ignores his tenth customer, Zayn proposes that they move to Niall’s flat above the pub to properly plan the trip. Niall answers by jumping over the bar, gathering up the napkins they wrote ideas on, and running up the stairs at the back.

Reminiscent of six months ago, the others follow him dutifully.

\---

**August. 2017.**

**Air India.**

Harry’s already in his seat, buckled in and so _ready_. Two weeks away, experiencing a completely different culture, a yoga retreat, learning history, and tie it all off with lying on a beach. This is going to be so _good._

He watches as the others stow away their carry-ons, leans back a bit to make room for Louis to clamber over him. Suddenly, he’s 16, seeing the same arse for the first time. He gives it a hard smack. Louis jerks back into the contact, falling ungracefully into his seat.

Harry tsks, “Little more poise, Lou.”

“Thanks, but I’d appreciate it if you keep your hands to yourself,” Louis glares at him, wiggling around before buckling himself into the seat.

He’s freshly shaven, hair lying flat across his face. He’s more angular now, grown into his features. But fuck, if he doesn’t look like the boy Harry had first met, had completely wrapped himself in. Had kissed. He’s overcome with this… this _feeling._

He surges into Louis, brushing his nose against his cheek. He lingers for a moment before placing a soft kiss to the smoothness he feels.

Louis’ completely still when he draws away, frozen with his eyes widened. “Uh, what was that for?”

“Reminded me of when we first met,” Harry dimples at him. He intertwines their fingers, feeling the sigh run through Louis’ body. “Can’t believe we’re here again.”

Louis squeezes his hand.

“Move, Niall,” Zayn grunts from the aisle, urging Niall who’s stopped in his tracks, scribbling in his notebook.

\---

Zayn wakes up to a warm hand on his cheek, softly thumbing him into consciousness. He blinks blearily, Liam’s crinkly eyes coming into focus. It’s a nice sight to wake up to.

“Food,” Liam says, passing a tray of steaming food to him.

They unpack their meals, the scent of chicken tikka wafting up.

“’S not that bad,” Zayn comments after a couple of bites. It’s nowhere near his mum’s cooking, though it is decent for plane food.

In front of them, Niall moans in happiness.

“How much weight do you think he’s going to gain this trip?” Liam whispers into Zayn’s ear. The hairs on Zayn’s arm stand up, as if they’re eager to listen to Liam’s voice as well.

Zayn thinks about it, “Maybe he’ll lose weight. Not sure if his pasty white arse can handle the spice.”

“I can hear you,” Niall says around a mouthful of food.

They laugh, Louis’ cackles a little louder than the rest.

“I’m excited,” Liam says, once their empty trays are taken away. He lets his head loll toward Zayn and smiles. Even through his fatigue, his face is open. Happy. Zayn rakes his eyes over it, cataloguing how Liam’s eyes are reduced to tiny slits, the crinkles framing them beautifully. How his stubble only serves to highlight the pink of his lips. How there’s an errant hair in one of his eyebrows.

He reaches up smooth out the hair, feeling the way Liam’s breath hits his hand in shorter bursts.

“You look excited,” Zayn agrees. “You look happy.”

He has. Ever since he broke up with Jane, Liam’s been smiling more. Been more affectionate. More open.

“I am,” Liam closes his eyes. “You can rest your head on my shoulder. Might be better than the plane window.”

Zayn nods, shifting till he’s comfortable, placing his head onto Liam’s shoulder. He drifts asleep surrounded by the unique rich scent he’s come to associate with Liam.

\---

**Delhi.**

There are a lot of people in India. A lot. And they stand out like a sore thumb. Well, Zayn reckons, the others stand out. He can blend right in with his brown skin colour.

“I’ve never seen so many people,” Niall looks around amazed. The waiting area outside the Delhi airport is teeming with people. There are black and yellow taxis, their drivers yelling to get in. There are porters rushing to carry bags for people, shouting words in Hindi that Zayn can make out if he strains to listen. The air is thick with smog and the sounds of one of the busiest cities in the world.

“I feel like they’re staring at me.” Niall whispers, pressing into Zayn’s side. Zayn loops fingers around his wrist, keeping him in place. The last thing they need is Niall getting lost.

“That’s because they are,” Louis says from behind them.

“We’re white,” Harry comments, joining them. There’s a sheen of sweat already on his face, hair flopping into his eyes. “We’re the minority here.”

“Feels a little…” Niall trails off.

“Come on,” Liam says, looking at the map he’d printed off, in his hands. “The buses are stationed around the corner.

They stick close to each other, making their way through the crowds, Liam carving a path. The busses are relatively easy to find, and they make their way up to bag some seats, throwing their rucksacks into the holding area below.

\---

Zayn’s awake with a start, head hitting the back of the seat roughly.

“Fuck,” he groans. “How long have we been driving.”

“Five hours. Around an hour left,” Liam says from in front of them.

“How you holding up?” Zayn looks at Niall beside him, who’s practically got his head sticking out the window. He looks a little queasy.

“Best if I don’t talk,” Niall says tersely, drawing his head back just as the bus goes over another bump.

“Look,” Harry exhales from behind them, as they round the edge of a mountain, the view of lush green and rocky edges expanding from the clouds. The bus lurches around the corner, flinging them all into their seats.

“Fuck, we’re going to die.” Louis clutches at Harry’s hand, face hidden in his arm. They narrowly miss the edge of the road, an easy image into the trip down the mountain. A car honks loudly as it rounds the corner in the opposite direction, missing them by a few inches.

They don’t die, but they do make it to the ashram a little worse for wear.

\---

**Nainital.**

A chime sounds through the ashram, waking everyone up at six in the morning. They’re in a room with five simple beds, lined against the wall, a solitary sink off to the side. Harry joins the others in heading outside for their morning tea. Yesterday, they had walked through the basics asanas, pranayama, kriyas, and meditation. He’d been thrilled to learn about the origins of yoga, its spiritual and mental roots.

“So much of yoga practice in the western world focuses on the physical,” Harry had said last night, reading through the pamphlets they were given. “I love learning about the background and like, the spirituality.”

Tea is followed by meditation and a simple breakfast of fruit. Then they go outside to work through the asanas of the day. Harry focuses on his breaths as he moves, already relaxed, worries and stress left behind in London. Once the practice is complete, they have the choice of moving inside or meditating outdoors. Harry stays out a while longer, sitting on soft grass and listening to the sounds of the birds, the rustle of leaves as a breeze passes through.

When he opens his eyes half an hour later, dark clouds are rolling in, though it doesn’t deter the tranquility in his body. He calmly rolls up his mat and heads back inside. He sidesteps a rock expertly, congratulating himself. His balance has improved since he’s been here.

He finds Louis and Niall chatting quietly in one of the common rooms. They’re only a handful other guests with them, most choosing to keep to themselves and be immersed fully in the meditation and spirituality.

“Where’s Zayn and Liam?” Harry sidles down on the floor with them, sitting cross-legged on the cushions.

“Went for a walk,” Niall says. “They better hurry back. Looks like it’s going to rain.”

“What do you think, Lou?” Harry brushes a hand through Louis’ fringe, his head easily accessible given how he’s lounging on his side. “Do you like it? Can you last for another couple of days?”

They’d intentionally picked the four day stay, knowing that Louis wouldn’t last for a full week. Besides, Harry wasn’t going to force the boys into doing something only he really wanted, for too long.

Louis laughs softly, “It’s much better than I thought. How they explained it, that it’s the body, mind, and soul, it helps with understanding the point of it.”

Niall nods, “Yeah, when I went to a yoga class back home, it wasn’t like this.”

“It’s also really peaceful here,” Louis closes his eyes, breathing in softly.

Harry studies the sharpness of his cheeks, the profile of his nose. His forehead looks smooth, peaceful. He realises he’s never seen Louis like this. Usually, he’s always bouncing with energy, on the go.

“I’ve never seen you like this,” Harry pushes Louis’ fringe back off his forehead. He holds it like that for a few seconds before letting it go, hair falling unevenly back down.

“Like what?” Louis asks.

“Peaceful.”

Louis smiles, “I’ve honestly never felt this calm before. It’s a bit weird.” He turns to look at Niall who’s watching him curiously. “What, Nialler?”

“You didn’t fix your hair,” Niall points out.

Louis flips his head, some of his fringe falling back into place, “Better?”

“I had no problem with it,” Niall shrugs. “I just found it interesting that you didn’t fix it immediately. Usually, you’re always touching your hair.”

Now that Niall mentions it, yeah.

Louis flicks Niall’s knee, “Peaceful.” He continues a second later, “It’s nice to be away from it all. I love work. I love being around the patients and taking care of them. But the pace can be grueling. And seeing people sick all the time – some days, it’s not that easy to shake off. This, being here, this is good.”

“I agree,” Niall says. “Don’t realise how _noisy_ the pub is, until I’m actually away from it. This is nice. Doesn’t feel like you’re constantly searching.” He blushes lightly, ducking his head.

Harry looks at him curiously, but lets it go. “Yeah, I actually hadn’t thought about Lisa and the thesis since we got here.”

“Sorry to remind you,” Louis grins.

“No, it’s actually good. I hadn’t thought about how draining it’s been to immerse myself into fandom. Don’t get me wrong, I love what I do, but the intensity of it all…” he shakes his head, refocusing his eyes onto Niall and Louis. “It’s been a little confining, you know? Anthropology drew me in because of its connection to people and places. It’s easy to feel like you’re part of something when you’re constantly around a society. People. That’s like – tangible. I could pick up a,” he scans the room, eyes landing on a candlestick, “a candlestick and touch it. Feel a connection to the people who touched it years before. With _Midnight_ there’s nothing physical. There’s a screen and strangers behind a screen – but, but – that’s it. It’s isolating.”

Niall pats his knee, “Well, we’re here, now.”

Louis nods, “Yeah, be present _here_. Immerse yourself in this.”

**\---**

They get one hour each day to access their devices. By the third day, none of them really bother with it, opting to take a walk through the hill station, see what’s outside, and talk to the locals. None of them bother with it – except for Liam.

The minute he rejoins them, Zayn takes one look into his eyes, and gets up.

“Hey Li,” he circles his wrist, “come walk with me?”

They’ve not even made it past the front door, when Liam sighs, “How did you know?”

“You’re not a very good liar,” Zayn responds. He chooses a different path today that goes up the mountain. “What happened?”

“Got a message from Jane.” Liam ducks low to avoid a drooping branch, shoes hitting the red brick path softly.

Zayn hopes he hasn’t to prompt him for more. He waits for a few beats, focussing on his foot placement once the path ends and the hiking trail begins. The ground is still slippery from the monsoons, mud squelching under their trainers.

“She said she misses me. Thinks breaking up was a mistake.”

He feels something tighten in his chest. “Do you?”

“What?” Liam startles, nearly tripping over a fallen log. “No. Of course not.”

His chest loosens. Zayn frowns at it.

“What, you think it was a mistake?” There’s a sharpness to Liam’s tone that he hasn’t heard before.

“No! Why would you think that?”

“You’re frowning,” Liam points out.

Betrayed by his own body, Zayn lies smoothly, “Ground’s a bit slippery, babe. Not all of us can be superhuman like you.”

“Flash,” Liam says.

They do this thing, where they pick a superhero they’d be for the day, to avoid certain frustrating moments. Or to revel in the happy ones.

“Really? You’re normally all for the physical activity.”

“Not when I have to wade through a foot of mud to do it,” Liam grins. He doesn’t look too upset.

It doesn’t take much longer to reach the clearing, the trail short but the incline steep. They hike in quiet, breathing deeply with every strain in their thighs as they climb higher. Once they step through the trees, they stand together, regulating their breaths.

“Fuck,” Liam breathes in.

They’re definitely not on the highest point of the hill station, which would be Naina Peak, though the view that stretches before them could say otherwise. The Himalayas reach high into the sky, their snow-capped peaks evident in the distance. Below them, Naini Lake reflects a brilliant blue, basking in the cloudless sky. Across, they can just about make out the white, little homes that dot the green hills, the small town vibrant against the lushness of the land. It’s breathtaking.

They sit down on some log stumps, reveling in the stillness, content.

Liam breaks the silence. “Breaking up was the right thing to do. Jane was… too safe. It felt like giving in. Giving up. It wasn’t what I wanted.”

“What do you want?” Zayn grants him the illusion of privacy, averting his eyes to two birds that streak across the sky.

“I want to explore. To find myself,” Liam laughs, a little self-depreciatingly. “Sorry, that sounded lame.”

“Not lame,” Zayn shakes his head, flicking off dried mud flecks that splatter up his legs. “It’s easy to get lost in everyday life. Confuse the mundane with meaning.”

“Yeah,” Liam says, quietly. He clears his throat and looks at Zayn hopefully, “Maybe this trip will allow me to do that.”

“Probably be a good place to start,” Zayn agrees.

They watch a group of people take a boat out onto the lake, lose themselves in the synchronisation of oars hitting the water. Zayn loses track of time until he notices the change in shadows falling across the town. He’s about to suggest they head back when Liam speaks up again.

“I – I,” he pauses, clearly frustrated with his inability to let out what he’s trying to say. Zayn reaches out a hand to provide him comfort, when – “I like boys. Too.”

Zayn drops his hand and Liam stares resolutely at the ground. Zayn thinks Liam should have picked Cyclops, the intensity with which he’s staring at the soil, sure to light something on fire. He reckons now wouldn’t be a good time to share that.

“I know you’re quiet,” Liam says, voice slightly shaky, “but now would be a _really_ good time to say something.”

Zayn exhales a tiny laugh, “I’ve always known, Li. What would you like me to say?”

“How,” Liam finally looks up. “How did you know?”

“I see the way you’ve looked at Harry and Louis. A little bit envious. Understanding.”

Liam shakes his head, slightly bewildered. “You, you unhinge me.”

It takes Zayn half of the trek back down for the blush to die from his cheeks, so that he can finally look at Liam. He thanks him for sharing, wishing he’d responded with that first. Then he tells him about the Cyclops thought.

Liam’s laughter accompanies them the rest of the way to the ashram.

\---

They’re going to be spending the next day in town before they leave Nainital. Still, Louis and Harry decide to explore the hill station during their free period. They walk through the curving streets, landing in the markets selling fresh fruit and vegetables. The stalls are covered in green awning, old rain water dripping off the sides. The women are wrapped in bright sarees and salwars, the men in brown pants and pale shirts. They’re polite, limited English not a deterrent in their ability to communicate. Harry buys some tiny bananas, rolling his eyes at Louis when he declines one.

“But, Lou, they’re as small as you.”

He laughs brightly when Louis flips him off, munching happily on a banana, and putting the other one in his pocket.

A happy shriek echoes through the streets, startling them both. The next thing Harry feels is the banana slipping from his pocket. He jumps, looking around and starts laughing. A baby monkey is perched high up in a tree, eating the banana it had just stolen from Harry. The kids across the road, where the yell emitted from, are giggling into their palms, wearing identical uniforms of pale green and white. 

“Binita did warn us about them,” Louis says, watching other monkeys join the little one.

“That they’d steal our phones. Not my banana,” Harry pouts.

“Was my banana anyways,” Louis smirks. “I’m glad the monkey got it instead of you.”

“Wanker,” Harry says, putting his hands in his short pockets to ensure his phone is still in there.

“Then again,” Louis muses, “you look like a monkey, so it would have been fine if you got it too.”

Harry gasps, outraged. “I do not!” he sputters. “You’re the monkey.”

“I’ll show you,” Louis threatens.

He’s so tiny, Harry just scoffs at him, starting to walk away. The next thing he knows, there’s a weight on his back, scrappy arms and legs wrapped around his body.

“You know,” Harry says, lifting Louis up higher so they’re both more comfortable, “you’re kind of acting like a monkey right now.”

“Giddy-yup!” Louis instructs, hitting his feet against Harry.

“Wrong animal,” Harry chortles, obeying dutifully. He starts running down the street, the kids’ laughter mixing with theirs. They nearly hit a pair of girls, in the same green and white as the kids, this fabric made into salwar kameez.

“Sorry,” Harry gasps, stopping to laugh once they pass the girls. “Have to put you down, Lou. I’m tired.”

Louis slides off his back and comes to stand in front of Harry, hands on his hips. He’s trying for disgruntled. All Harry gets is hopelessly endeared.

“Are you calling me fat?”

“If the shoe fits,” Harry shrugs, jogging away before Louis can retaliate.

“That is no way to treat your elders,” Louis complains.

The words jolt through Harry, making him trip over his feet. He only just stops himself from falling down, frowning as Louis approaches.

“I’m not a kid,” Harry mumbles.

Louis pinches his cheek, cackles loud over the thrum of a car that passes by. “Yes, you are,” Louis pats his cheek. “You’re our baby.”

Harry moves his cheek out of Louis’ way, frown deepening. “I’m not that much younger.”

“You’re the youngest out of us five,” Louis states, inquiringly sizing Harry up. “Just the truth.”

“Not that much younger,” Harry insists, stalking away. He doesn’t quite know why he’s behaving so petulantly, just knows that he hates being reminded of how he’s _younger_.

“I’m sorry,” Louis catches up to him.

Harry sighs, not wanting to be difficult. “Me too.”

Louis opens his mouth to say something else, then promptly shuts it. They walk in silence, passing more children who look at them with interest.

He sneaks a glance at Louis, his bout of annoyance gone as quickly as it had flared. Louis’ hair is soft again, his beard is starting to grow out, the perfect amount of stubble dusting his chin. He’s really pretty like this. Then again, he’s always pretty.

“I like your hair like this,” Harry tells him. Both as a peace offering and the truth.

“Oh,” Louis looks at him in surprise, eyelashes dusting his cheeks when he blinks. “Uh, thank you.” He touches his hair, fingering the ends of his fringe, before he drops his hand.

Harry thinks of the teenager he’d met and of the person Louis has become. They’re different in so many ways but still the same. The same confidence, the same exuberance. Louis’ just a bit more calm these days, energy not always at a 100%.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Harry tries again, hoping Louis isn’t upset.

Louis grins, never one to hold on to a grudge for long. He nudges Harry, “Someone thought it’d be a good idea to bring me to an ashram. You think he was trying to send me a message?”

Harry means to reply with a joke, something along the lines of how he’s not the only one trying to send Louis a message. Instead, he says, “I like listening to you talk.”

“Full of the compliments today, Curly?” Louis teases.

His hand brushes Harry’s and Harry thinks about holding onto it. He reaches out, just when Louis puts his hands in his pockets. He plays it off by running his hand through his hair, quelling the bubble of disappointment.

They pass a school soon, painted a cheery white with blue trimming. Its courtyard is dotted with children in the same pale green and white, the younger ones running around, shouting at each other in Hindi.

“They don’t show this side of India, do they?” Harry observes, taking in the neatly kempt houses and roads. It’s a stark contrast to the third world country image that the media paints.

“No, no they don’t,” Louis agrees.

They walk passed the school, navigating around the stray dogs that own the streets, the road narrowing until there aren’t any more buildings or people, high rocks and billowing leaves taking over.

“Maybe we should head back?” Louis suggests.

Harry’s about to agree, when a drop of water falls on Harry’s cheek. A second one lands on his nose. Then, the skies open, dumping water onto the two of them.

“Fuck,” Louis groans. “These monsoons hit out of nowhere.”

Harry frantically looks around, eyes lighting up when he spots an alcove hewn into the rock at the side of the road. He grabs Louis’ hand, yelling, “Come on.”

It’s just big enough to fit the two of them, providing adequate shelter from the rain. They’re still soaked, Louis’ hair plastered to his face, eyelashes clumped together. His white shirt is practically see through, nipples hardened in the cold wet.

Harry bites his lip, reaching out to rub a thumb across a nipple.

Louis yelps, jumping back, though there isn’t any room for him to go. “What the fuck, Harold?”

“You’re cold,” Harry grins, cheekily.

“Yes,” Louis crosses his arms up high, trying to protect his nipples. “My nipples aren’t fair play though.”

“You always pinch mine,” Harry pouts, shaking water from his hair.

A few stray drops land on Louis who grumbles, “Like a bloody dog. Getting me wet.”

“I can keep you warm,” Harry waggles his eyebrows, spreading his arms out. They quickly get wet and he draws them back in hastily.

“Maybe you should work on keeping yourself dry first,” Louis snorts.

He follows it with a violent shiver and Harry wraps him in his arms. He uses his body to shelter Louis from the wind and water, rubbing his back leisurely.

“Like a giant bear,” Louis murmurs into his neck, opening his fists to clutch onto Harry’s shirt.

“First a monkey, then a dog, now a bear,” Harry tuts.

“I just call it like I see it, love.”

Harry smiles into Louis’ hair, breathing him in. The rain falls harder outside and he’s sure it’s going to get dark. He can’t be bothered to care. He’s got his favourite boy in his arms, their breathing timed to each other’s. It’s kind of perfect like this.

After long moments of holding Louis, Harry pulls his head back so he can look at him.

“Hey,” he whispers, when Louis’ eyes flutter open, greeting him with the blue. They’re a bit grey in today’s light. He could get lost in them.

“Hi,” Louis’ lips curve up.

Harry nudges their foreheads together, tightening his hold on Louis, eyes falling shut. There’s an unexplained urge to be closer. Always closer.

“Haz,” Louis breathes. Harry feels it across his lips. He reflexively darts his tongue out to lick them, disappointed when they don’t taste of Louis.  

“Haz,” Louis repeats, but Harry refuses to open his eyes. He’s feeling a bit heady right now, dizzy with the warmth that’s beginning to ignite in his veins.

He nudges their noses together, tracking the line of Louis’ with his own. He can feel Louis’ fingers digging into his shirt, a new tenseness in their tips. Closer.

It’s Louis who erases the distance, pressing his lips to Harry’s. He’s 16 and in a hotel room, heart thudding in his chest, shocked that this boy who fills every aspect of his life is kissing him.

Louis pulls back a moment later, blue eyes teasing. “Got to kiss me back.”

Harry stares at him, mind racing in a thousand different directions. It’s too intense, the rain and blood fighting for dominance in his ears.

Louis’ fingers loosen in his shirt, voice unsteady, “Erm, I guess not?”

Harry dislodges a hand from Louis’ back, bringing it up to cup Louis’ jaw. It’s rough against his palm. That’s new. Then he looks at Louis lips - and yet, still so much the same.

He’s 16 and mesmerized by the boy in front of him. He’s 23 and nothing’s changed.

He surges in, kissing Louis with an intensity he forgets he’s capable of. Lips and bodies molded into each other, never letting go.

Closer.

\---

They’re awake on the bus ride back from Nainital, albeit tired from a morning of wandering the streets and canoeing in the lake. After three hours of bumpy roads, reckless driving, and loud honking, the five breathe a sigh of relief when the bus driver pulls off to the side, stopping in front of a makeshift canteen.

They step down and once Zayn takes in the sights and the sounds, he immediately starts laughing.

“Isn’t that…?” Harry frowns at the giant cut-out above the stall.

“From the movie you made me watch!” Liam says, excitedly.

_“Kuch Kuch Hota Hai,”_ Harry finishes for him.

It indeed is. It’s a giant picture of Shah Rukh Khan, Kajol, and Rani Mukherjee, dressed as their characters from the movie, sipping from a bottle of Coca-Cola. To complete the cliché, the radio is blasting the titular song.

“I liked that one,” Harry remembers, moving to join the line of people waiting to buy food and drinks. “It had that line, ‘love is friendship.”

“Pyar dhosti hai,” Liam nods, accent odd around the Hindi.

“How come you’re watching movies without us,” Niall asks, hurt.

“Oh, no babe,” Zayn pulls Niall into him, “I’d made Harry watch it well before I knew you.”

“And Liam?” Louis smirks, a bit evilly.  

Zayn chooses to ignore him, stepping up to the counter and picking out a Limca and some masala crisps.

“Can I get a coke?” Liam asks.

“ _Nahi hai_ ,” the old man with a graying beard behind the counter says. He points to a glass bottle with dark, fizzy liquid. “ _Sirf_ Thumbs Up.”

“Try it,” Zayn urges, hand on Liam’s back. “I think you’ll like it.”

They come away with varying packets of crisps and biscuits, moving toward the plastic white chairs and table while they wait for the other passengers to load up on snacks.

“ _Ek minute_ ,” a small boy darts from behind them, kicking up mud as he runs toward the furniture. He wipes the water off the chairs and table before presenting his finished work to the boys with a large grin. Louis laughs and presses a fifty note rupee into the kid’s hand.

“Thank you. _Acha gora sir,”_ the boy waves happily, running off.

Zayn bursts out laughing, tongue in between his teeth, sinking into a now dry chair.

“What did he say?” Louis asks, twisting the cap off his Limca.

“Said you were a nice white man,” Zayn grins at him.

Louis’ cackles are loud, joining in with Harry’s honking laugh, Liam’s leg raising giggles, and Niall’s genuine throaty sounds. Zayn smiles around his bottle, a deep satisfaction working its way through his body, at the prospect of how well they fit.

“How come you understand Hindi?” Harry asks, chewing on a sugary Bonbon biscuit. “You speak Urdu.”

“It’s similar enough that I can pick out the gist of what people are saying,” Zayn explains, stealing a Glucose biscuit from Niall.

“Is it very different? India and Pakistan?” Liam asks.

Zayn looks at him, choosing his words carefully. There’s years of history and deep seated emotion that he doubts he’ll do justice to.

“There are a lot of similarities culturally,” Zayn begins. “Food, clothes, sometimes even language. We mainly watch Bollywood movies. It was all one country, if I remember correctly. India, Pakistan, and Bangladesh.”

“Until the British rule,” Harry says, when Zayn pauses. “I remember reading up on the British rule in India after I saw the Koh-i-Noor at the Tower of London.”

“Yeah,” Zayn says, remembering stories from his grandmother when he was a kid. “The British divided the states. There are some similarities obviously, but it’s also very different. Religion is a big one. Majority of Pakistan is Muslim, and obviously, we speak Urdu. There’s also, like, years of conflict between Pakistan and India. Still is. Took me ages to get my visa approved.” He sighs, looking up at the boys, “My family has been out of Pakistan for years. I only know stories of what my grandparents used to tell me from when they were kids. My dad laughed when I told him I’d be going to India before seeing Pakistan. It feels like a battle sometimes, trying to maintain the Pakistani culture while living in the UK…” he trails off, taking a sip of his drink, unsure how the conversation took such a steep turn.

It’s silent for a while, the others contemplating Zayn’s words.

Later, when they’re making their way back to the bus, Liam slips beside Zayn, brushing his fingers along Zayn’s elbow. “Will you teach me?”

Zayn looks at him questioningly.

“About your religion. And your culture. Like – all of it.”

A soft laugh huffs out of Zayn. He can’t help it, or how he gazes at Liam in awe, still surprised by the boy beside him.

“Of course.”

\---

**Amer Fort. Jaipur.**

Harry leans against a wall of the fort, wiping sweat off his brow. It’s drier in Jaipur, the heat swilling with the dust and making for unbearable air. He’s managed to find a shady area, the sun only flitting through the intricate patterns in the stone, casting dancing shadows against the floor. He lost the boys some time ago after their guided tour had ended, choosing to return back to the Diwaan-e-Aam and Diwaan-e-Khaas rooms and take in the ornamented walls and mosaic tile. Something about the room, reading about how the maharajas and maharanis led opulent lives, throws him back to the history he’d read of other places. Of the rich in Ancient Rome. Of the monarchy back home.

He’d spent the better half of the hour reading about the Mughul Empire, of what India was like before the British. It leaves him wistful to see all this beauty, to learn of a life what once was. Leaves him wondering if things would be different had his people decided not to interfere.

“There you are, Curly,” Louis finds him gazing out across the water, at the sprawling dry land and never ending path. “The others decided to check out the elephant rides.”

Harry makes a non-committal sound, still lost in images of grandeur of years long ago. Beside him, Louis sighs.

“I forgot how you get when you’re surrounded by history.” Louis nudges him, demanding his attention. “Harold.”

“Right,” Harry wipes the sweat off his brow, wishing for the bandanas he used to tie his hair back with. “The others?”

“At the elephants,” Louis repeats, rolling his eyes.

“What?” Harry asks, affronted.

“Relax,” Louis says lazily. “They’re not going to ride them. Just taking a look. They’ll meet us back at the front gates for the light show.”

Harry nods, mollified.

“What’s your favourite part?” Louis speaks up.

Harry bites down a smile, always touched when Louis makes an effort. “How big it is. And grand. Like…” he takes in the vastness of the fort, the splendor of the art, “We hear about the other places, yeah? Everyone goes to see Buckingham Palace, the Colosseum. They’re all epic pieces of history. We don’t often hear about this. I didn’t even know India had so many riches.”

Louis nods, his quiff lethargically moving with the motion, wilted in the heat.

“They lived as the British lived, you now. Kings and queens. Meeting places for their public. Dinners and parties to show off what they owned.”

“The world has changed, but it’s also stayed the same.”

Harry stares at Louis, heart rabbiting in his throat. It’s not an appropriate response by any means. Except for how those are the exact words he had once uttered to Louis while sitting on ancient rocks at the Roman Forum.

“What?” Louis quirks a teasing brow. “I listen.”

“Yeah,” Harry murmurs, eyes tracing the curve of Louis’ hairline, over the straight ridge of his nose, and down to the bow of his lips. Lips that he hasn’t kissed since Nainital, a problem of not enough time and a lack of privacy. He wants again. Wants badly.

“Get a grip, Curly,” Louis says, lowly, hand on Harry’s chest to hold him back. He casts a glance at the tourists milling around.

Harry blinks around his daze of lust and … and _something._ He hadn’t realised he’d been leaning in.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, righting his back and shaking his head. “I – sorry.”

Louis eyes him strangely before lightly asking, “What else did you learn.”

Harry watches a girl with a thick plait and heavily lined eyes lead a group around the fort. “India hasn’t been the same since the British took over. Is it odd that I feel guilty?”

Louis sighs deeply, voice carrying a hint of remorse, “No. I think it’s good that we realise the fault in the past. How white people thought that because of the colour of the skin, they deserved more. Could do anything. Treat people of colour as if they were less.”

Harry thinks of the world outside this fort. Of the world outside India. How in some ways history is hell bent on repeating itself.

“The world has changed, but it’s also stayed the same,” he murmurs again.

Louis leans into his side.

\---

Niall had kept Liam and him awake late last night, talking a mile a minute about the forts, the elephants, the food. The last thing he remembers is falling asleep in the bed beside Liam, Niall’s face red from the heat and excitement, smiling happily from the sofa beside the bed.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep with Liam in his arms.

That, that’s a wholly new development, sure to have transpired during the night.

Zayn buries his nose into Liam’s hair, smelling the lingering freshness from his shower last night. He takes in a deep breath.

And stills.

Because Liam is moving in his arms. Specifically, his hips are moving in the tiniest of circles, pressing timidly against Zayn.

Against his morning wood.

He lets out an involuntary gasp, eyes flying open, trying to distance his erection from Liam’s arse, nervous sweat breaking over his body. Liam chooses that moment to stop moving, his muscles tensing where they’re pressing into Zayn.

Slowly, so very slowly as to not spook a scared animal, Liam shifts on the bed until he’s facing Zayn. His own eyes are wide, eyebrows almost hilariously high up in his hair.

“Zayn, I –“ Liam begins, clearly at a loss for words.

Zayn opens his mouth to – to interrupt him? Console him? Apologise? He’s not sure what his plan was, and he’ll never have to find out because Niall stretches out on the sofa, popping the kinks in his back.

“Morning, bitches,” he yawns.

“Morning,” Zayn mutters, extricating his arms and walking gingerly to the bathroom.

He shuts the door, eying the bucket and mug resting on the floor, and sighs. He’d kill for a proper shower right now, to drown out his thoughts and wank pitifully. Instead, he fills up the bucket with hot water, cringing at every silence that accompanies a shower without running water.

\---

**Johari Bazaar. Jaipur.**

It’s fucking crowded.

He’s about to get his PhD in English. Has studied the great authors of his time. And before his time. Yet, when he takes in the people pushing their way into tiny shops, people spilling out of doorways, people walking through the streets, all Zayn can come up with is _it’s fucking crowded._

“This is insane!” Niall laughs gleefully, darting through a group of women and into a shop that has fabric hanging from the windows. Yards of pink, swatches of red, bursts of yellow. The others hurry after him, getting lost in the rainbow of colours, delicate embroidery glinting off fabrics.

“Wow,” Harry says reverently, touching the silk of a deep blue roll. “This is incredible.” His eyes light up when he sees smaller pieces of cloth, hanging off a rack behind the shop keeper. He points at a bright pink scarf and a black scarf with silver embroidery, brokenly working his way through a transaction with the man. Zayn’s convinced he just got completely ripped off, but Harry leaves the shop smiling widely, so he doesn’t bother to share his insights.

“No running off,” Zayn tells Niall when they’ve left the shop and are walking down the street again.

“Fine,” Niall drawls, a cheeky grin lighting up his face. Zayn shakes his head, a lot happier when he sees Liam throw an arm around Niall’s shoulder.

“I want stuff for the girls as well,” Louis says, looking at the shops they pass. He seems unsure of which ones to go into.

“I think we just pick one,” Liam says, sensing his indecision. “Can’t go wrong.”

They end up spending most of their day exploring the bazaar. They laugh at Liam trying to haggle his way through outrageously expensive sandals. They roll their eyes when Louis twirls Harry around to a beating drum, the little kids in the street that have gathered to watch, laughing in delight. They stop into a tea shop to buy some ice cream and eat cake.

“Fuck me,” Niall moans at the tiny piece of pastry before him. “How is this so good? It’s just chocolate cake.”

“If there’s one thing India has taught me,” Louis says, biting into his kulfi falooda, “it’s that everything tastes good. _Everything.”_

“This chai too,” Niall agrees, taking a sip of his masala chai. He smacks his lips delightedly.

“So, when people say chai tea latte, at Starbucks,” Liam ponders. “Are they essentially saying ‘tea tea’?”

Harry snorts some of his ice cream from his mouth when he laughs. His eyes water, “How are we that stupid? I always thought I was cool ordering a chai tea.”

Zayn shrugs, “I always got a kick out of it.”

Harry’s eyes widen, “You totally knew all along and you didn’t even tell me!”

Zayn laughs, ducking to avoid the napkin Harry throws at him. The others demand to know what else the Western world has gotten wrong, which sets Zayn off on a rant about Bollywood. It carries them to the end of their tea and they leave the small shop with their bags full of gifts for their families.

“I don’t reckon we’ll get a taxi here,” Louis says, eyeing the crowded street doubtfully. “We’ll have to walk to the end of the road.”

“Excuse me.”

The five turn in unison to see a teenager, black hair spiked, dressed in a shirt that confuses Zayn’s eyes. One half of his collar is a pattern of yellow stars against a purple background. The other half is of blue and red stripes. The rest of his shirt is made up of swirls of yellow and green. Zayn looks behind him to see two other boys, dressed in similar bursts of colour.

“Yes?” he asks.

“Can we get a photo?”

“Photo?” Liam clarifies.

“With you,” the boy says.

“Uh… why?” Louis wants to know.

“So I can put on Facebook. Say this is my white friend from,” he pauses looking at them.

“England,” Harry supplies.

“The Queen!” the boy laughs.

“Sure!” Niall cackles, throwing his arms around the boy and his friends who’re a lot less shy now that they know it’s safe.

“Here,” the first boy thrusts his phone into Zayn’s hand. “You take the photo.”

Zayn stares at the phone incredulously, but aside from raising his eyebrows, he does as he’s told. When they leave, the other four look at him.

“So,” Harry begins, scratching his head in bewilderment, “they just wanted a picture with us because we’re white?”

“Yup,” Louis says, starting to walk away.

“And you look brown,” Harry frowns at Zayn. “So they didn’t want you?”

Niall’s still laughing when they catch up with Louis, the entire situation amusing as always. Harry and Liam on the other hand, they’ve got matching frowns on their faces. Zayn leaves them be, joining Louis in hailing a taxi. They’re interrupted again, this time by a small girl with large eyes and dirt scuffed over her face and hands.

“ _Paise_?” she holds her hands out.

“She wants money,” Zayn translates, a bit unnecessary as that’s one of the words the others have picked up.

Niall pulls his wallet out, thumbing through the rupees. The girl’s eyes light up when Niall hands over a few notes. Suddenly, they’re surrounded by three more children, thin and clearly poor, all holding out their hands and repeating the Hindi words for money and please.

“Uh…,” Liam looks around, overwhelmed. “Maybe we shouldn’t just give them money. How do we know it’s actually going to them?”

Louis scoffs, “Not everything is like _Slumdog Millionaire_ , Liam.”

Liam blushes, ducking his head.

“Liam’s got a point,” Zayn defends. “Maybe we should get them some food instead of just giving them money.” He turns his head to the kids and says, _“Khaanna?”_ He points down the street to some food stalls.

The kids nod vigorously, a couple running ahead to the shops, some staying behind.

Liam crouches down to the girl who had first approached them, “What’s your name?”

She looks at him, a little bit confused, a little bit scared, and hides her face behind Zayn’s leg. Zayn grins, bending down as well and looking into the girl’s brown eyes.

“ _Naam,”_ he says, pointing to the girl.

“Priya,” she answers, averting her gaze.

“Priya,” Liam repeats, smiling at her. His face breaks into his signature crinkly eyed grin when the girl smiles back.

They get back up, joining the rest of the group at the shop, picking out fruit and bread and hot rolls. Zayn trails back with Priya who quietly slips her hand into his when he asks her if she wants some _chole_. She nods her assent, thanking him when he hands her a cup full of the steaming _channa._ He takes a seat beside her while the other kids decide what they want.

“Watch my bags?” Liam asks, leaving his purchases on the seat next to Zayn so he can take the boy who’s attached to his side to choose some food.

Priya pokes Zayn’s hand when Liam walks away. She beckons Zayn closer and he lowers his ear to her level.

_“Woh bahut khoobsurat hai,”_ she whispers her secret, pointing timidly at Liam.

Zayn bites his lip, smile threatening to break through. He looks at Liam intently listening to the boy chatter away in Hindi and can’t help but agree. That, yes, he is very beautiful.

\---

The rest of the way back to the hotel is quiet, each silently reflecting on their afternoon. There’s an air of pride at having done a good deed, yet no one is willing to discuss it, lest they plunder away the modesty they’re trying to hold on to.

“ _Chai?”_ the man standing next to the concierge asks when they walk by to get to their rooms.

“Actually, I wouldn’t mind some,” Niall says. He passes his bags to Zayn, “Will you take these up for me?”

The four take the elevators up, Harry dragging Louis to their room the minute the doors open. Zayn follows Liam back to theirs at a more leisurely pace, the heat making it impossible to move quicker than absolutely necessary.

He sets about putting all his purchases away when they enter.

“Do you want to shower first?” Liam asks.

“Fuck, yes,” Zayn groans, his white shirt transparent in places that he’s sweat through.

He feels years better when he joins Liam out on the balcony in a pair of lose shorts and a tank. His hair flops down to the side, damp from the shower. He rocks on the chair, the setting sun taking the heat of the day with it.

“Do you think it will ever change?”

Zayn turns his head to Liam, waiting expectantly.

“The inequality in the world,” Liam elaborates.

“That’s a loaded question, Li. Inequality is rampant. In so many ways. Everywhere.”

“Yeah,” Liam agrees, squinting at the sunset. “Racism.”

“Sexism,” Zayn adds.

“Islamophobia. Homophobia.” Liam sounds tired. “It’s everywhere, here, back home.”

Zayn shrugs, not much more he can add to the truth.

“It’s not fair,” Liam continues. “Not how they didn’t want you in their pictures.”

Zayn punches out a laugh. “Li, that’s what’s bothering you?”

“No,” Liam frowns. “Not just that. I hate the _Fair and Lovely_ ads we see everywhere. Or how those kids are living such a tough life and it probably won’t get any better. Just because they were born into it. They didn’t _do_ anything to deserve that. Why is the world like this?”

If Zayn could, he would fix everything and offer it to Liam. But he can’t. “You should ask Harry this.”

Liam sighs, turning downcast eyes to a water stain on the armrest of his chair. He circles it, frustration evident in the tightness of his fingers.

“Liam,” Zayn stills his hand with his own. “You make a difference every day.”

Liam scoffs.

“You do,” Zayn insists, squeezing his hand. “You don’t need to change the world. You just need to change someone’s moment. That’s how you make a difference.”

Liam blinks at him, mouth falling slightly agape. “How?”

Zayn raises his eyebrows.

“How?” Liam repeats. “How are you so amazing?”

“Oh,” Zayn blushes. That’s twice in a few short days that Liam’s rendered him speechless. “Literature. It’s uh – it gets you in touch with your feelings.”

“And you know all about literature,” Liam smiles, turning him palm over so he can intertwine their fingers.

“I do,” Zayn says softly, looking down at where they’re connected.

Liam’s fingers twitch in his. “Can I ask you something?” His voice is considerably softer, calmer, the desperate need from before washed away.

“Anything,” Zayn replies, more meaning hidden in that one word than he lets on.

“Is it stupid to want to date a boy next?” There’s a flush to Liam’s cheeks that can’t be attributed to the heat.

“It’s never stupid to follow your heart.” Zayn’s own is doing crazy things in his chest and he doesn’t know how to make it stop.

“I just – just want to know what it’s like.”

“That’s understandable,” Zayn says.

Zayn looks out at the orange and pink painted in the sky, trying to sort through the whirlwind that’s in his head right now. He turns to Liam, hoping he’ll be able to help.

Liam’s staring at his lips.

“Li…” Zayn warns, watching the way Liam licks his own lips. The way he’s inching closer.

“Liam,” Zayn tries again. His thoughts are giving way to tornadoes and he finds he can’t move even though he should.

Liam presses his lips to Zayn’s. Soft. And so, so timid.

Zayn jolts back, his mind suddenly clear.

“I can’t – I’m not your experiment,” he looks into Liam’s eyes.

“Zayn,” Liam squeezes his fingers. He’d forgotten they were still holding hands. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-

“I’ll spend the night with Harry,” Zayn separates their hands, a strong desire to get away. Away from the reminder that Liam had just used him so he could _know what it’s like_. “I’ll send either Lou or Niall in.”

“I – uh, okay.” Liam slumps, not putting up a fight.

Zayn turns around quickly, hastening out their room. He can’t stay. Can’t stay to find out if the tears in Liam’s eyes make it down his face. He fishes in his pocket for the spare key to the other room, barging in without a warning.

He’s greeted with the sight of Harry pressing Louis in the wall, attached so thoroughly, he can’t tell which limbs belong to whom.

“Oh for fucks sake,” Zayn growls, satisfied when they spring apart, having the decency to look ashamed. “Where’s Niall?”

“Went for a walk,” Harry says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. It comes away shiny with spit.

Louis pulls himself off the wall, his common brand of confidence hidden somewhere. “I’m going to have a shower,” he says awkwardly, pointing at the bathroom door. He doesn’t wait for a response, avoiding their eyes and scurrying into the bathroom.

Zayn waits for the sound of water hitting the bucket and then he rounds on Harry. “What the fuck, H? When were you going to tell me? How long?”

“I don’t need to tell you anything,” Harry scowls, crossing his arms. He must see the hurt on Zayn’s face because he backpedals quickly. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry, okay? We just kissed in Nainital and now. But there’s nothing. Nothing, to like, _tell_.”

Nothing to tell. That’s rich, when Zayn’s spent the past year watching Louis pine for Harry while Harry still can’t decipher his own feelings.

“It’s _nothing_ ,” Harry insists when Zayn’s been quiet for too long. “It’s just fun, okay? I’m here to have fun. This trip is meant to be _fun_.”

Zayn laughs, derisively, “Is that what you’ve told Louis?”

“I-“ Harry opens his mouth and then shuts it into a thin line. “You know what, it’s none of your business.”

“Yeah,” Zayn nods, anger in every movement, “You’re right. It is none of my business that you’re too much of a coward to figure out what’s going on in your own head. You’ll spend hours watching other people, trying to find meaning in their actions and their lives, but you can’t do it to yourself.”

The silence that follows echoes loudly in the room.

“Fuck you,” Harry whispers. The edges of his eyes are rimmed red. For the second time that night, Zayn looks away from someone he’s made cry. With his back to the door, he can’t see it when Harry leaves.

There’s too much right now – the anger at Harry, the hurt that Liam used him, the utter helplessness he feels. He picks up a water bottle off the bed and throws it at the wall. It doesn’t dent the concrete, but it resonates a thud that satisfies some of the urges.

The bathroom door opens.

Fuck. Zayn squeezes his eyes and runs a hand through his hair. He’d forgotten Louis was still here.

When he opens his eyes, Louis looks at him with his face pulled tight. He’s not as easy to read as Harry or Liam. But the pain- that is still evident.

“How much of it did you hear?”

Louis lifts his shoulders. “Not exactly like there’s a shower head to drown out sound.”

Zayn sighs, sinking into the bed. He buries his face in his hands, unable to look at Louis. “I’d like to stay the night here, if that’s alright with you.”

“Yeah, alright.”

When Zayn does look up, there’s relief written on Louis’ face.

\---

He looks around and he can’t tell where he is. He doesn’t know how long he’s been walking for, just that the light is fading quickly and it’s going to get dark soon.

He sits down on the curb, a stray dog sniffing a few feet away. It drowns out the sound of Harry’s own sniffles.

He’s pathetic. He feels pathetic. Walking blindly in a city he doesn’t know, crying at Zayn’s words.

Probably because he was right. Harry picks up a stone, feeling its ridges, and throws it on the road. The dog startles and runs away. He’d feel bad if he wasn’t busy feeling petty. And sorry for himself.

Fuck Zayn for always being right. For saying the things no one else dares tell him.

He wonders what would’ve have happened if Zayn hadn’t walked in. Louis would have definitely let it go further. He might have been able to actually touch Louis this time.

_Fun._

He doesn’t know why he said that. Yes, it’s fun. But it’s – it’s –

He’s still figuring out what it is. Louis just. He overwhelms Harry. And sometimes, sometimes, it’s just easy to give in instead of sorting through the mess in his head.

It’s not just fun.

“Haz?”

Harry looks up and sees Niall with approximately five kids hanging off each limb.

“Niall?” Harry chokes on a relieved laugh. “What are you doing?”

“Went for a walk and met these kids. We’re going to play footie. At least, I think that’s what they’ve been saying. They have a football.”

They do. A small boy has a green and yellow football, brown and muddied with dirt.

“You in?” Niall asks.

Harry nods, dusting off his shorts when he gets up.

They don’t talk much. They don’t need to. The children are content to shout instructions at each other in Hindi, dividing Niall and Harry into opposing teams. Football, it’s the same no matter the country, no matter the language, no matter the age.

They play.

His lungs scream for air, his feet are indecipherable from the layer of mud, shoes long abandoned. And he feels miles better when a girl on his team scores and she jumps onto his back for a victory run.

Because at the end of the day, _we as humans, we’re still the same._

\---

They’re a mess when they bid the kids good-bye and silently agree to split rooms so they can shower quickly. Niall leaves him at Zayn’s and Liam’s room and Harry trudges off to Louis. Now that the rush of a game of footie is done, the conversation from before creeps back in.

“Oh,” Harry frowns when he turns on the light.

A nest of messy black hair lies on the white pillow. He sighs and moves into the bathroom. Something must have happened to warrant Zayn to sleep away from Liam and with Harry, particularly after they’d fought. He fills the bucket with hot water, stripping down quickly, the cooling sweat giving rise to goosebumps. Now that he thinks of it, Zayn was already upset when he’d interrupted earlier. He doesn’t know what’s going on with Zayn and Liam, having been so wrapped in Louis lately. He feels a bit guilty.

Once he’s done with the shower, he climbs into bed with his roommate and kneels before him, staring with his head tilted to the side. He watches the rise and fall of Zayn’s chest, much too shallow for a deep sleep.

Wanker is faking it.

Harry reaches out to the floppy mohawk, hair going every which way on the pillow. He brings it all down to lie flat on Zayn’s face, paying no heed to gentleness. He artfully splays all the hair forward, poking at Zayn’s cheeks in the process.

Zayn’s lips twitch.

Once he’s satisfied, Harry settles back on his heels, laying out his next plan. He smiles wickedly, reaching for Zayn’s palm and slowly bringing it to his own body. He’s a breath away from his own dick when –

“Fuck off,” Zayn snatches his hand back, precariously close to Harry’s naked balls. “I hate you.”

Harry falls sideways, muffling his cackles into the pillow. He reaches for his boxers from where he’d dropped them on the floor, struggling to put them on with his shaking limbs.

“It’s disgusting how pleased you are with yourself,” Zayn grumbles.

He is. Harry is very pleased with himself.

They lie in relative silence, Harry’s occasional burps of laughter shaking the bed. When he settles, he turns to his side and takes in the way Zayn’s lashes fan against his cheeks. Five years later and Harry still thinks it’s highly unfair that one person can look that objectively beautiful.

He pinches Zayn.

“Why,” Zayn sighs, like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Why are you so insistent on ruining my life?”

Never let it be said that their home lacks drama.

“I’m sorry,” Harry answers. “For, like, before. With the – “

His words are cut off by Zayn’s palm on his face. Zayn lifts his hand up and lets it fall back heavily. He’s doing a fantastic job of simultaneously comforting Harry and ruining his facial features.

“I’m scared.” Harry’s words come out misshapen into Zayn’s hand.

Zayn sighs, moving his hand to grasp the back of Harry’s head and draws it to his chest.

“I know, babes,” Zayn says into Harry’s hair.

Harry hugs him close, burying his head deeper into Zayn’s chest. For now he doesn’t have to face his fears. For now the truth can stay hidden.

For now, he can succumb to sleep.

\---

**Taj Mahal. Agra.**

They’re in a car provided by hotel, on their way to the Taj Mahal. One of the seven wonders in the world. They should be excited. They should be talking about what they’re going to see.

It’s painfully quiet instead. The silence horribly awkward for the past four hours.

Zayn’s been clinging to him ever since they woke up, climbing into the back of the car with him as soon as it pulled up to the front of the hotel. He hadn’t even had a chance to pull Louis aside, get some private time to talk to him.

Niall had tried once to strike up a conversation. Only Harry and Liam had pitied him and offered a lame reply to his question, leaving him to furiously scribble away in his notebook. He’d taken to periodically pulling it out during the drive, writing in it, and then shoving it back into his pocket. If Harry wasn’t fretting about why Louis had chosen to sit all the way in the front away from him, he’d be more inclined to prod Niall and ask him about it. Instead, he stares at Louis’ reflection in the side mirror, trying to telepathically get him to turn around and look at him. Send him a smile. Cross his eyes. He’d settle for anything.

The crowds increase as they get closer. The car pulls into a busy car park, filled with tourists and locals alike, all walking down the road where vehicles are forbidden. Their driver promises to wait, settling down for a nap, leaving the five of them alone for the first time that day.

“Alright,” Niall says when they’ve walked in silence for a few minutes, “What the fuck is going on?” He first looks at Harry and Zayn walking together in front of him, then turns around to Louis and Liam behind him.

“Nothing,” Zayn mutters, expertly avoiding some children running toward them.

Harry looks at him but doesn’t question it. He tried to ask Zayn this morning and was provided with a noncommittal shrug. He hadn’t had time to probe, Niall banging on their door to hurry up.

“Nothing,” Louis echoes.

Harry whips his head to look at him. He catches Louis’ eyes, only to lose them a second later when Louis blatantly averts his gaze. It causes a sudden ache, so out of place and foreign, that Harry blindly reaches for Zayn’s hand, needing something to ground him.

Niall leaves it at that and Harry thinks he’s just given up. When Niall brushes past his shoulder to purchase the tickets, handing them out with a steeliness to his features, Harry realises that he hasn’t.

“Niall’s upset,” Harry whispers to Zayn.

“Great, he can join the club.”

Zayn belies his words by leaving Harry and throwing an arm around Niall’s shoulder.

That’s how the step into the outer walled area of the Taj Mahal, the red sandstone glowing in the sun – Niall and Zayn together, Liam and Louis sticking by each other’s side. Harry trails behind, suddenly alone. He focuses on the green grass and beautifully kempt gardens, the intricate patterns etched into the high walls of the gates, forcing any other thoughts from his mind.

“Harry?” Zayn calls from where he and the others have stopped at the North Gate, tourists moving undeterred around them.

He sees Niall hold out his hand expectantly and his heart floods with love for them. He hurries forward, slipping his hand into Niall’s and taking a deep breath.

Together, the five walk through the North Gate. His breath sticks in his throat when through the darkness of the entryway, the first glimpses of the Taj Mahal become visible. Beside him, he hears Zayn draw in a gasp and Niall squeezes his arm.

The minute they step through the gateway, they pause as one.

“Wow,” Liam exhales.

The white marbled structure looms ahead in all its glory. The pillars rise up to the sky, perfectly framing the main dome which glints under the sun. Though still far away, Harry seeks out each arched window, each rounded peak, trying to comprehend that the building in front of him is actually real and not an image. To say it’s breathtaking is an understatement, especially when he thinks that it was built in the 1600s.

“Imagine loving someone so much that you build _that_ for them,” Niall comments.

Harry’s gaze drifts to Louis.

When he realises what he’s done, he takes a step back, his senses spiralling down to the frantic thump of his heart.

“Picture, pictures,” a man steps up to them flipping a photo album. Countless photos of families and couples posing with the Taj Mahal in the background fly through Harry’s vision.

“No, thank you,” Zayn shakes his head, guiding the boys away.

“Wait, I want one where I’m holding the tip,” Niall complains.

Louis cackles at the double meaning, rubbing at his neck where Liam flicks him. It brings Harry out of his panic. He look around, taking in the chatter of the tourists, the heat of the day, and forces himself to breathe normally.

They do take pictures at various angles, of Niall holding the top of the Taj Mahal, of the five of them together. Harry sticks close to Zayn, not trusting himself to be around Louis just then. If Zayn notices anything he doesn’t say.

Once they’ve exhausted every photo opportunity, they dodge someone selling miniature Taj Mahal key chains and walk up the pathway toward the actual structure.

“I can’t get over how perfectly symmetrical it is,” Liam says, nearly tripping over his feet, eyes fixed on the Taj.

“Shah Jahan was obsessed with symmetry,” Niall says. “I read up on it before. Did you know there was supposed to be a black Taj Mahal built across the Yamuna for when he died?”

“Wasn’t that a myth?” Harry asks, thinking back to his own readings.

Niall shrugs, “I think it’s cool. Buried together forever.”

“Well they’d not actually be together,” Louis argues. “If he built a separate one for himself. At least this way he and his wife are actually buried together.”

Niall and Louis argue about which option is better. Although Harry agrees with Louis, he doesn’t say anything. Rather, he takes in each new detail that’s visible as they get closure to the main structure. He can start to make out the patterns over the arches and the designs in the marble. They climb up to the first platform in the same red sandstone, deciding to first go up to the main marble platform before they take in the views. The line to go up moves relatively quickly, and the next thing Harry knows, he’s standing on sparkling white marble.

He’s in the actual Taj Mahal.

They’re all a bit speechless, wandering about trying to take in the stretch of the gardens, the rise of the pillars. Harry walks to a wall stopping when he gets in front of the detailed flower carvings. He traces along a ridiculously realistic petal, still unable to wrap his mind around the amount of effort and dedication that went into the structure. A foot above lies a bold pattern of colourful flowers and vines, the inlay created from crushed stones and corals.

“Do you know what language the writing is?” Liam comes to stand beside him, looking up at the calligraphy that runs along the entrance.

“I think it’s Arabic,” Harry says. “Zayn would know.”

“Oh,” Liam coughs, suddenly tense. “Yeah.”

Harry looks at him, wondering what exactly happened between the two. He had initially been jealous when he first noticed how much time Zayn chose to spend with Liam, worried he was being replaced. Until he realised that Zayn’s feelings toward Liam lay in a more romantic that platonic sense. He desperately wants to know what went wrong to separate the two, though he doubts now is the time or place for questions.

“Zayn,” Harry calls, turning around to look for him. He waits for him to get closer, bringing Niall and Louis as well. “Is that Arabic?”

“Yeah,” Zayn says. “Can’t read it, but I know it’s supposed to be passages from the Quran. About death and the afterlife.”

“I still can’t understand how they managed to create this,” Louis cranes his neck up in amazement. “To write all the way that high. How?”

Harry itches to reach for him, to share his own incredulity. It’s something he does with Louis. He’s come to expect it. Except, when he reaches out his hand toward Louis, Louis walks passed to the entrance of the tomb.

He blinks back a surprising prickliness in his eyes and jumps when a gentle palm clasps his elbow.

“Coming?” Liam asks, voice soft. He looks at Harry with an apology in his eyes, and Harry wonders what Liam has to be sorry for.

They follow the others to the door, stopping to take off their shoes. The guard makes them wait for some people to exit before they can go in, a strict limit to how many can be inside the main tomb, to be respectful and protect its integrity.

“Didn’t know it’d be this dark,” Zayn says from beside him.

It takes their eyes a few minutes to adjust to the dark, with the bright sun reflecting off the white marble lingering behind their lids. It’s still difficult to make out the actual details, the lattice work of the barriers before them that stretches up into the arches and the walls.

“They’re both buried here?” Niall asks.

“Below,” a guard replies. “This is a replica of the tombs. Muslims believe in death you should be buried simply. Vanity is not welcomed in your final resting place.”

When they get back out, the sun blinds them.

“Let’s get a guide,” Niall suggests, slipping his shoes back on. “I feel there’s so much more we don’t know.”

\---

Zayn sits under the shade of a large tree. He knows Harry’s back at the main tomb, quietly reflecting like he always does. The other three had decided to take a look at the souvenirs at the North Gate, leaving Zayn to himself.

He takes in a deep breathe, slowly letting the air out. The stress of being around Liam was getting to him. It didn’t help that Louis was blatantly avoiding Harry.

“Can we talk?”

Zayn opens his eyes to see Liam looming over him. He squirms from below, wanting to be obstinate and say no.

“Here?”

“You ran away last night,” Liam says.

He’s right. Doesn’t mean he deserves a response.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Liam continues, though his tone is far from accusatory. He’s still standing, looking down at Zayn. Zayn watches him move to take a seat and then, thinking better of it, he remains standing.

“You can sit down.”

Liam sinks down gracefully, keeping careful space between them. “Thank you.”

Zayn offers up a small quirk of his lips.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Liam repeats.

Fuck, Zayn sighs. He has. He’s been no better than Louis now that he thinks of it.

“I’m sorry,” Liam barrels on. He seems so confident, seeking Zayn out, continuing with his speech despite little indication that it’s welcome. He seems so confident, yet Zayn can hear the tiny tremble in his voice. Can see how his hands are picking at the grass they’re sitting on.

“I’m sorry if I took advantage of you. You’re not an experiment. You, you-“ Liam falters. “Zayn,” he pleads.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He can’t stand seeing Liam like this. He blindly reaches out for Liam’s restless hand, stilling it in his own.

“I’m _sorry_ ,” Liam repeats, practically begging.

Zayn squeezes his palm, steadfastly keeping his eyes off Liam’s which are boring into the side of his face. How does he tell him? How does he tell Liam that he can’t live with himself if all he was, was Liam’s first boy? That he’ll always want more. How does he tell him that here, in front of one of the grandest gestures of love, Zayn could come up with a million and one bigger ways to show Liam that he’s in love with him? 

He turns to look at Liam, at the way his eyes are filled with fresh tears. “It’s okay, Li. I – it’s okay.”

Liam nods, wiping at his eyes furiously, offering Zayn a trepid smile.

His own answering smile is tight with words still left unsaid.

\---

The waiter guides them to an ornately decorated table for eight. When they’d planned the trip to the Taj Mahal, Niall had stumbled on the Taj hotel chains and he thought it’d be ideal to finish off their time in Jaipur with a dinner at the Taj Rambagh Palace. They’re dressed for the occasion, swapping lose tanks for fitted button-ups. They take their seats and thank the waiter.

Harry traces over the embroidered golden thread on the red placemat, leaning back into his chair. When he closes his eyes, he can still see the twinkling fairy lights lining the gardens, the candles that are floating in the pond. They hadn’t realised how tired they’d be, eight hours of travelling, plus packing. The thought of taking a taxi straight to the airport is a bit too daunting at this moment.

He jerks into attention when he hears feminine voices, opening his eyes to three Indian girls in flowy sundresses.

“Hi,” the one next to him says, smiling brightly. “Looks like we’re sharing a table tonight.”

Harry stretches out his hand to her, contemplating her North American accent. They go around the table, introducing themselves.

“Shruti,” the one sitting next to Niall says.

“Gaya,” the girl beside her goes next. “Shruti’s girlfriend.”

“Tina,” the one closest to Harry says. “The third wheel and their chaperone.”

Niall laughs loudly at that, his words getting lost in his laughter. The three girls shoot him an amused look.

“Where are you from?” Liam asks them.

“Vancouver,” Tina, replies.

“Cool, I have family in Toronto!” Niall exclaims.

“That’s a little farther from us,” Shruti smiles, the group easily breaking into conversation with the introductions out of the way.

They quieten down when the pre-dinner entertainment comes out. A group of classical dancers dressed in bright red with flowers in their hair take their places. A drum starts to beat and an employee greets the guests for the evening, explaining Bharatanatyam and its significance in India. Harry watches, mesmerized by the precision in their steps, the rhythmic beating of the drum, and the classical singing that accompanies it.

He sneaks a glance at Louis, who by a stroke of luck had ended up sitting next to him. His head is slightly bobbing to the beat, eyes following the movement of the dancers. He’s even more captivating that the entertainment, skin even more golden from the constant sun they’ve been under, hair styled into a tousled fringe. Tentatively, Harry reaches out, taking Louis’ hand into his. It’s tense under his for a moment, but as the drummers play on, Louis relaxes into his touch, turning his palm over so Harry can hold onto him better. When the dance is done, Harry whistles, unwilling to let go of Louis’ hand.

“So,” Liam asks, after the dancers have left, “what made you pick India?”

Gaya answers, “This is our graduation trip. We were all born here, but our parents moved to Canada when we were really young. We thought it’d be symbolic for all of us to return at this moment in our lives.”

“What about you?” Tina asks.

Niall launches into their story, doing a fantastic job of explaining Zayn and Harry’s research and what prompted them to embark on the trip.

“Well, that’s crappy about your research,” Tina consoles, “but at least you got a trip out of it.”

“Actually,” Harry says, remembering the email Zayn had woken him up with that morning, “it’s not all so bad. We just got an email from my supervisor this morning. They’re going to hold off on the survey until after the third book comes out.”

For the first time that day, Harry feels Louis’ eyes on him. He turns toward Louis eagerly.

“You never told -“ Louis cuts himself off, lips pinched. He pulls his hand away from Harry, reaching for his water glass.

Harry feels everyone’s eyes on him, cheeks burning furiously. He stumbles for his own glass, knocking his fork to the floor in the process. He’s grateful for the reprieve, ducking his head under the tablecloth. Suddenly, all his hurt and confusion from before is replaced with anger. How dare Louis pretend that it’s Harry’s fault? He’s the one who’s been avoiding him all day. How dare Louis be angry, when Harry doesn’t even _know_ what he’s done to warrant the cold shoulder?

When he emerges from under the table, the conversation has moved on. He tries to listen, to participate and be a good sport. He knows he’s falling short with all the concerned looks everyone keeps shooting his way. Everyone except for Louis.

Their waiter returns a few minutes later, tray filled with steaming dishes. He places them at the centre of the table: rogan josh, daal, muttar paneer, and chicken korma. He describes each dish as he puts them down, explaining the ingredients and the cooking process. Harry’s able to momentarily forget his emotional turmoil when he serves himself, breaking pieces of buttery naan with his hands. It melts in his mouth, soothing his broken heart. He takes his time eating, savouring the mix of spices and carefully cooked dishes. His taste buds have never felt so alive. For the first time that day, he feels a semblance of happiness.

\---

**Colva. Goa.**

It takes Zayn all of five minutes in Goa to figure out that it’s nothing like the rest of India. It doesn’t have the hard pulse of a metropolitan city like Delhi. It’s lacking the deep seated history of Jaipur. There’s no serenity of Nainital. It’s got its own heartbeat. One of a laziness that slowly makes its way through Zayn’s bones, until he languidly presses his head back into the seat of the taxi, letting the Hindi music wash over him.

It’s smaller too, he notes, when it takes them a mere half an hour to reach their Airbnb in Colva. It’s a quaint little bungalow, hidden among the trees. It’s painted a cheerful yellow with a green trim around the doors and windows. They walk in after paying the taxi driver, taking in the interior of the place. A small living area with wooden furniture. Kitchen off to the side. And three bedrooms.

“I’m calling a room to myself,” Niall declares, already making his way to the one furthest down the hall before anyone can stop him, taking any semblance of normalcy with him.

The remaining four stand at the door, picking at straps on their bags. None of them are willing to show their hand and make the first move. Zayn catches Harry’s eye, sees his eyes grow wide. He’s up for sharing with Harry. Up for not having to sleep in the same bed with Liam and avoid another awkward morning.

“Yeah, I’m going to the beach,” Louis announces into the tense silence. “Fuck this.”

He leaves his bag on the floor and walks out the door. It clangs noisily behind him.

Harry stares at the swinging door, completely frozen. His bag falls out of his hands, landing with a thud and still, he doesn’t flinch.

“Harry?” Liam touches his arm softly.

It snaps him out of whatever trance he was in.

“Yeah, I’m just going to – “ he points at a door and then walks into one of the other rooms, bag lying pitifully by Louis’.

“Uh, should we…?” Liam turns to Zayn, scratching the back of his head and shuffling his feet.

Zayn sighs. “We’ll share. Harry needs some time to himself. Come on.”

\---

The bathrooms in this house have a shower head. Harry has never been more thankful for a proper shower than at that moment where he can cry in peace without the fear of being over heard.

He thought that he and Louis –

He thought that Louis –

Fuck knows what he thought. He shuts off the water, dries off, and slips in between the cool sheets. He waits for sleep, the desire to turn off his mind, overwhelming.

When he wakes hours later, he can hear Niall singing in the kitchen. Zayn’s sitting at the table reading a paperback and Liam’s snoozing on the sofa.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Niall says. “I’ve packed a beach bag.

Harry peers into the bag on the counter. It’s got sun cream, bottles of water, some crisps, and a Frisbee.

“Where’d you get all of this?” Harry asks, stealing a bottle of water and taking a long pull.

“Popped by the shops. There’s one just up the road.”

“Thank you,” Harry presses a kiss to Niall’s cheek.

“Oi,” Niall throws a kiwi at Liam. “Wake up. I want to show off my body by the beach. Where’s Louis?” He looks at Harry expectantly.

Harry shrugs, turning away. He doesn’t know, and frankly at this moment, he really doesn’t care.

“Haz?” Niall holds onto his arm.

“I’m not his keeper,” Harry snaps.

“Okay,” Niall says, placating. He tries to mask his worry with a forced smile, “Let’s go.”

It takes them fifteen minutes to walk down to the ocean, the sand a sparkling white, water a clear blue. It takes them another hour to locate Louis, who meanders over in just his shorts. It takes Harry three minutes before he can no longer stand being around Louis pretending everything is alright.

He gets up, mumbling something about going for a swim. The first step into the water shocks his system. He dives in anyway, cutting cleanly through the ocean, letting his muscles propel him. He can do this.

When he returns to the boys, they’re in a deep discussion about which restaurant they’ll be having dinner at. Harry looks at the rows of restaurants along the beach, each advertising the best food. From what he can tell, there’s not much to differentiate amongst them, all coming equipped with a patio, beers, and a decent number of people.

“The crab’s cute,” Liam points to one a few feet away with a gigantic crab on its front.

Since none of them have strong feelings about beach front restaurant deco, they gather up their towels and walk up to the front, sand flying with every step.

“How many?” the host greets them.

“Five,” Louis answers, flashing the man a smile. It’s more than Harry’s received recently.

He takes them to a table hidden in the shade, for which Harry’s extremely grateful. He sits across from Louis, though not for a lack of trying to avoid it. He doesn’t want to look up every time and see Louis not looking at him. He could do without the hurt. Or the constant ache and sheer confusion about how everything took such a drastic turn.

He still doesn’t know why.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” Their host apparently serves as a waiter too because he’s standing at Louis’ elbow, ready to take their orders.

“What would you recommend, love?”

Harry’s eyes fly up to Louis. He often calls people love, it’s nothing. Except, hearing it sends Harry back to Rome when he’d watch from the sidelines as Louis’ turned on his charms.

“You can call me Raj,” the waiter smiles down at Louis. “I’d recommend our local Goan beer.”

He’s got amber eyes and corkscrew black curls. He’s incredibly good looking and judging by the glances he keeps shooting Louis, he’s very much into boys.

“I’ll try that then,” Louis looks up at Raj, licking his lips subtly. Or maybe not so subtly, since Raj breaks out into a smirk.

“Lou,” Niall warns lowly, once Raj has taken their orders.

“What?” Louis raises his eyebrows defiantly.

“Never mind,” Niall sighs, choosing to write in his notebook instead.

Raj comes back with their drinks and a plate of chicken lollipops.

“On the house,” he winks at Louis, placing the platter on the table. Harry watches the way his arm trails down Louis’ shoulder, the way Louis’ flutters his eyelashes back. He thinks he’s going to be sick.

“Need to take a piss,” Louis says, leaving the table swaying his hips, the movement followed closely by Raj.

It’s too much. Everything – it’s. Too much.

“I’m actually not that hungry,” Harry pushes his chair back, getting up.

“Harry, don’t,” Liam reaches for him. “Louis – he’s just being a dick right now. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Maybe on another day, Harry would have stayed to argue with Liam. Show him all the examples of how Louis’ behaviour means something. Of how Louis isn’t just being a dick _right now –_ has been one for some days _._ But it’s not any other day. It’s today. It’s a culmination of some of the shittiest days of his life and he’s just so _tired_.

“It’s alright,” Harry manages a watery smile. “I’ll just see you lot back at the house, yeah?”

He walks away paying no heed to their voices. The day seems to be mocking him, the brightness of the sun and the softness of the sand a cruel reminder that everyone’s enjoying their lives, while his own slowly falls to pieces.

He tries to shut his mind off again. He doesn’t want to think, doesn’t want the constant reminder.

He can’t escape it.

Every time he blinks, images of Louis smiling at other men light up behind his lids. Eighteen year old Louis charming Italian boys. Twenty five year old Louis flirting with men at the bar. All versions of Harry looking on in jealousy. The slapping of his sandals on the pavement does nothing to mask the constant voice in his head that he’ll never be anything more than the inexperienced one, trying desperately to gain Louis’ attention.

He’d been fine with simply being in Louis’ presence. Recently though, recently there’s been this deep yearning in his bones for _more._ He doesn’t know why, doesn’t want to know why. Just knows that he wants more. It’s not enough, it’s never really been enough.

Even though it’s been a year since Louis came back into his life, Harry still feels like he’s sixteen, praying for Louis to notice him. Begging him for a smile, a touch, a kiss. He’s the one who asked to be kissed. In Rome. In Naintital. In Jaipur. He remembers how Louis wanted to stop in Italy. How Harry had been the one to spur them over the edge. He used to think it was reciprocated in some way, a testament of how he and Louis just fell together. These past couple of days, he’s been proven wrong. How he mistook Louis’ actions for anything other than pity – he’ll never know.

Maybe this is what karma is.

He shoves the key in the door, choking back a sob. He’s never felt so painfully wrong, so wholly inadequate.

He walks listlessly through the house, dropping onto the bed in his room. His head falls into his hands, eyes blinking rapidly. He refuses to cry over Louis.

Anymore.

“Hazza?” someone calls.

His head flies up. Not someone – _Louis._ He’d recognise Louis’ voice with his eyes closed and ears cut off.

The door creaks open. The Louis Harry knows – he fills up each space he’s in. This one, this Louis has his shoulders hunched in, fingers fidgeting with the strings of his shorts.

Harry’s seen the peaks of the Himalayas. He’s stood before the Taj Mahal. Louis is still the most breathtaking site, especially with how all his attention is directed on Harry – for the first time in days.

“Niall said you weren’t feeling well?”

It’s too much. Days of wondering what he’d done wrong. Of the loss of going from all Louis every day, to nothing. Of constantly coming up with ways to get Louis’ attention, only to have it fall flat.

And now. To being the subject of his attention.

It’s too much.

He breaks down.

“Fuck, Haz,” Louis rushes toward him. Harry scrambles back up the bed until his back hits the wall. Louis stops in his tracks, arms frozen where they’re reaching for Harry.

Harry doesn’t know why he moved away, just he can’t trust himself right now. Can’t trust Louis.

“Harry?” Louis broaches, voice small.

Through gulping breaths, Harry cracks. “You left me! Louis, you just - you just stopped talking to me. You haven’t spoken to me in two days!” He doesn’t know if he’s even making sense, words garbled with how much his chest his heaving. His head hurts, the onslaught overwhelming. “ _Two days,_ Lou. You can’t just _do_ that. You’re my best friend.”

Louis chuckles weakly, “Don’t let Zayn hear you.”

Harry shakes his head, tears flying. He cries harder because Louis doesn’t get it. Louis doesn’t _understand_.

“Harry, love,” Louis crosses the space between them and sits on the bed. Harry draws his knees in, arms wrapping around them. He doesn’t care that he’s twenty three and acting like a child. He doesn’t.

Louis moves in closer until he’s right in front of Harry, undeterred by Harry’s knees in the way. He places careful hands on either side of Harry’s face, holding his head still.

“I’m sorry, love. I’m so sorry,” Louis wipes the tears streaking down Harry’s face.

“You’re different,” Harry whispers, hating how a simple touch from Louis shatters all his resolve.

Louis furrows his brows in confusion.

“From Zayn,” Harry clarifies, hiccupping. His nose has snot running down it. He feels gross and unworthy.

“How?” Louis asks, his soft voice caressing Harry.

“You’re…” Harry looks into Louis’ waiting blues.

In all his life, Harry has only once ever needed to sit down and contemplate his own feelings. Now, when he’s being forced to again, he finds he _can’t_ , the fear of what he’ll discover constricting his lungs. It’s difficult to breathe.

Louis’ still waiting and Harry finds any answer will be too much and not enough.

_You’re the one who’ll never see me the way I see you._

He gasps, offering lamely, “You’re – you’re _you._ ”

A flash of disappointment passes through Louis’ eyes. If Harry hadn’t been staring into them, he’d have missed it. He’s crying again, crying because this is it.

“Love, I need you to stop. Please,” Louis thumbs at his tears again.

He’s still holding onto Harry, trying to press in closer. Despite the mess that Harry’s presenting, Louis’ not running away.

“Hazza,” Louis scratches at his hair. “It’s ok. We’re okay, yeah?”

They’re not though. There’s still so much left unsaid. He still doesn’t know why Louis had been avoiding him. But Harry’s tears slowly subside with how Louis’s hands are comforting him. His knees fall open and Louis scoots closer still. Closer until his forehead is resting on Harry’s, Harry’s shuddering breaths mixed with Louis’ calming exhales.

“You’re good, love. I’ve got you,” Louis whispers into the space between them.

Harry nods, forcing his breathing to regulate, the tears to stop. His hands come up to clutch at Louis’ side, trembling when they hit bare skin. He never did put a shirt back on.

He loses track of how long Louis holds him, murmuring comforting words. It’s long enough for Harry to stop crying, his eyes itchy and puffy from the dried tears. His sniffles are less frequent and for the first time in days, his mind is blank. Blank except for how Louis’ fingers feel scratching lightly at his scalp. The way Louis’ forehead is a grounding presence. How his breath is warm with every puff against Harry’s skin.

Blank except for how it’s completely, filled to the brim and spilling over, filled with _Louis._

“Lou,” Harry says. It’s so quiet, it barely makes it past his lips.

Louis nods, nose brushing against Harry’s.

“Lou,” he pleads. He’s lost his dignity along with every apprehension when Louis pressed into him and shoved all other thoughts aside.

There’s the briefest of moments where Louis tenses and then he’s kissing Harry. It’s unlike any of their other kisses. It’s not careful or gentle. There’s no trepidation.

Louis is kissing him as though he’s punishing Harry, mouth fierce and forceful. And Harry’s taking it as if he was the one at fault, opening his mouth only too easily for Louis.

Louis tugs hard at Harry’s hair, a sting of pain shooting down his spine. He tears away, lips a dark red, eyes flashing. “Tell me you want this.”

Harry nods, eyes wide. “Of course, yeah, _yes._ Want you.” His ‘always’ gets lost in another kiss.

They fall together like they do in every aspect of life. If Harry still had his wits about him, he’d question if this was the best plan of action given the past couple of days. Instead, he kicks out his legs and drags Louis down with him, shuddering when Louis bites his bottom lip. Louis’ hands move from his hair and Harry panics.

“Lou,” he whimpers, eyes flying open.

“Just taking your shirt off,” Louis pants, throwing Harry’s tank across the room.

He falls back onto Harry, claiming his mouth with a bruising kiss that sends Harry’s toes curling. Harry clings on for dear life, letting Louis do whatever he wants. Happy to be under his attention again. He gasps when Louis pulls away with a loud noise, reattaching to Harry’s neck. At the spot right behind his ear that no one else has found. He’s instantly even more of a mess, emotions too heightened, and nerves firing rapidly. He gasps and pants because he’s forgotten how to breathe.

Suddenly, Louis’ gone, lips lifting off his neck.

“Louis,” Harry whines, feeling fresh tears spring up.

“Hazza,” there’s a hint of surprise mixed into Louis’ tone. “Babe, I’m right here. Just taking your shorts off.”

Harry shakes his head, “Come back. Please. Just – need you.”

“Yeah,” Louis swallows. He looks how Harry feels. Raw. “Okay, yeah.”

He’s back at Harry’s lips, kissing him more carefully. He joins their hands together, lifting them by Harry’s head and holding them there. The instant he aligns their body, Harry’s head spins faster. Their cocks pressed together is still the best sensation in the world. His tongue melds with Louis’, too gone to do anything.

Louis kisses him through, guiding their hips together. He no longer knows what’s going on. If he’s meeting Louis’ thrusts, if he’s giving Louis as much as he’s giving him. All he knows is that Louis is holding his hands, and kissing him, and is right there. He’s everywhere.

His orgasm takes him by surprise, mouth falling open as he feels it course through his body.

“Harry?” Louis says into his ear.

He can’t recall when Louis’ mouth got there. Harry turns his head so he can kiss him.

“Gotta let go,” Louis says against his lips.

“Huh?” Harry blinks stupidly at Louis, slowly recovering from his orgasm.

He suddenly feels the tenseness in his fingers from where he’s clutching onto Louis. And the sticky wetness in his pants.

Harry closes his eyes, embarrassment flooding through him. He came in his pants. Again. He lets go of Louis’ hands.

“Quite a grip you got there, Curly,” Louis kisses his cheek, now flexing his fingers in Harry’s hair.

Harry doesn’t feel like laughing. He feels mortified.

Louis shifts. His hardness digs into Harry’s thigh, a reminder that Louis, like the experienced one he is, has yet to get off. Doesn’t come from some grinding.

“Hazza?” Louis draws his attention back, sitting up and straddling Harry. He presses a finger into a bruise on Harry’s neck, eyes darkening.

Harry watches him for all of a second, before he surges up, wrapping Louis in his arms. He kisses Louis with the same intensity that Louis had kissed him. He’s going to give him an orgasm he never forgets. One he deserves.

He reaches into Louis’ pants, pulling out his hard cock. Revels in the way Louis’ mouth goes slack under his. Harry tries to pull off, so he can get his mouth around Louis’ dick, but Louis resists, hands keeping Harry in place. Harry complies, licking and biting at Louis’ lips, having to do all the work since Louis’ panting too hard to do anything. He slips his hand into his own pants, coming away wet with his still drying come, and uses that to smoothen the slide on Louis. He works his hand with precision and focus, putting all his best moves into the hand job, twisting and flicking at the head, until Louis snaps, slumping into him like dead weight.

He did that, Harry thinks, wiping his hand on the sheets and tucking Louis under. He falls asleep clinging to Louis, not ready to let go.

\---

Zayn stares at the banana in his hands. He’d been hungry when he left the bed. That had been his excuse. He’s not so sure anymore.

He bites his lip, sees how Liam had been asleep on his side, face soft, lips plush. The real reason he got out of bed was because he’d found himself yearning to reach across the space between them and touch. Space that was there because Liam had been insistent on keeping a respectful distance.

_I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable._

Zayn snorts. Liam doesn’t make him uncomfortable. That’s never been the problem.

A door shuts quietly.

He looks up from the banana to see Louis standing there, shirtless and still in his swim shorts. He’s got a large bruise on his neck.

Zayn raises an eyebrow.

Louis crosses his arms, staring Zayn down.

“I think we should go for a swim,” Zayn suggests.

“You can’t swim,” Louis points out.

Zayn shrugs, “We’re by the beach. What else should I have said?”

“We should go for a walk?”

Zayn grins, walking over to a discarded shirt on the sofa. He throws it at Louis and heads to the front door. “Come on.”

Louis joins him dutifully, the two lone figures in a town that won’t wake up for another couple of hours. Zayn can count on one hand the number of times he’s been alone with Louis. It’s always been them with one other person. Not something deliberate – just - how it was. It’s comfortable walking with him. The silence fits. Isn’t awkward.

After a few minutes, Louis speaks up.

“Just say it, Zayn.”

“Say what?” Zayn frowns.

“That I’m stupid. An Idiot. Dumb. Pick whichever one you want.” There’s a hint of derision in Louis’ tone.

So last night hadn’t really solved anything.

“Foolish?” Zayn offers.

“Sounds about right.” Louis jumps over some cinder blocks. When he lands, he sizes up Zayn. “Why don’t we hang out?”

“We are now,” Zayn steps over a pile of dog shit.

“You can’t expect me to be the only one answering questions,” Louis retorts.

Zayn ponders the question. “You could be a great friend. You _are,_ ” he corrects. “Its… no one is ever going to replace Harry.”

Louis frowns, “I’m not expecting to _replace_ him.”

“Yeah, but you have the power to hurt him. If this thing between you two goes sideways, I’ll pick him, Lou.” He shrugs, kicking at a pebble, the stretch of road before them clear, lined with large palm trees. “I’ll always pick Harry. It’s easier to keep my distance.”

“You think it’ll go sideways?” The words come out a tad shaky.

“I think you don’t communicate enough,” Zayn says.

Louis scoffs, “That’s rich, coming from you.”

It stings. Especially since the last time Zayn had proper spoken to Liam, he’d all but said Zayn was convenient. Just happened to be in the right place at the right time for a kiss. 

“I’ve spoken to Liam.”

“Have you really though?” Louis asks.

Enough about him. “I’m not the one sleeping with him without telling him the truth.”

Louis sucks in a breath. “If you can see it, how can he not?”

Because Harry’s an idiot, blinded by some foolish notion that Louis’ too good for him. Refuses to even entertain the idea that Louis could be reciprocating the feelings Harry hasn’t clued into yet.

“Sometimes, it’s easier to be blinded when the bullets are being thrown at you,” Zayn says carefully.

“You shoot a bullet. Got your metaphors mixed up, English doctorate,” Louis smirks.

“It’s early, you can’t really blame me for not making sense,” Zayn snipes, poking Louis’ rib. His giggles are bright in the early morning light. He watches Louis hide his smile behind the back of his hand, and asks something that’s been bothering him for a while. “Have you told him that Italy was your first time too?”

Louis’ smile slides off and he sighs. “Why haven’t you told him?

“I don’t like to meddle when it’s not my business.”

Louis scoffs, “What do you call this?”

“Two friends having a simple conversation,” Zayn smirks.

“You’re full of shit,” Louis narrows his eyes at Zayn.

Zayn flicks his nipple, then pauses as he considers his words. He wants to explain to Louis while still remaining loyal to Harry. “He’s scared,” Zayn starts and then stops.

“Scared of what?” Louis furrows his brows.

“Harry’s never really been in love,” Zayn tries again. Stops again. Words are being quite evasive this morning. Louis waits patiently for him to make another attempt.

“I think Harry’s put you on this pedestal,” Zayn begins for the third time. “And he fears that he’ll never be good enough for you. That you’ll never see him as anything other than the boy who didn’t know how to be with men.”

“What?” Louis sputters. “That’s bullshit.”

“No,” Zayn shakes his head. “He’s spent years building you up, Lou. And then you just waltzed back into his life. Brighter and even more amazing than before, is what he told me.”

“But,” Louis tries, weakly, “he has to see how gone I am for him? Fuck, _anyone_ can.”

Zayn smiles ruefully, “I think he blocks it out. Haz has never been good with his own feelings, you know. Doesn’t like to reflect on himself. Something happened in university and ever since he’s been too afraid of what he’ll find.”

“What happened?”

“Not my place to tell you.”

Louis nods. They’ve reached the beginning of the beach, where there’s equal parts sand and pavement. They both reach down in unison to pick up their sandals and walk barefoot in the still cool sand.

“He’s never been in love, you know,” Zayn says. “Been in relationships, but too afraid of the real thing. He’s too afraid of heartbreak. His parent’s divorce was messy.”

“So,” Louis squints at the way the early morning tide hits the beach, “you’re telling me I’m in love with someone who thinks I can never love him back. Someone who’s not only afraid of love, who’s afraid of himself, and is afraid that if he lets me in, I won’t like what I see?” He smirks at Zayn, no real humour behind it. “How’d I do?”

“Pretty much spot on.” Zayn watches the defeat in Louis’ eyes, bile rising in his throat that he’s done more damage than good. “Are you going to give up on him?” He bites his tongue from pleading with Louis not to.

“I don’t think I can,” Louis averts his gaze. “I love him too much.”

Zayn sighs, blinking back the sudden tears in his eyes. “He loves you too, Louis. He just needs some time to realise it. Give him a little nudge to get him to open up.” 

“I feel like all I’ve been doing is giving him a nudge.”

“Try a hard shove next time,” Zayn grins, feeling a lot more hopeful.

“Wanker,” Louis says affectionately. His smile looks lighter too.

They stand together at the shore, toes curling when the cold tide creeps up.

“What about you?” Louis asks suddenly.

“Huh?” Zayn takes his eyes away from the rising sun.

“Why are you pushing Liam away? He likes you.”

Zayn bites his tongue, fighting his instinct to tell Louis to shut up. He’d shared so much, it’s only fair that Zayn does the same.

“I don’t doubt that. I just need him to discern what’s the drawing factor: me or the novelty of a man.”

Louis pauses, pursing his lips. “I think you’re not giving him enough credit.”

Zayn tries to argue, “I don-“

Louis cuts him off, “Maybe you’re scared as well. Maybe you should practice what you preach.” He fixes Zayn with a hard look, daring him to argue. When Zayn doesn’t say anything, the words growing in his head, a blossom of hope tangled through, Louis smiles. He steps further into the ocean, squealing at the water and holds a hand out to Zayn. “Coming?”

“I can’t swim,” Zayn looks at him wistfully.

“I’ll hold you,” Louis promises. When Zayn hesitates, he teases, laughter edging through, “Come on Zaynie, time to get over your fears.”

The double meaning is very evident and it hits Zayn square in the chest. He straightens out his back and steps into the water, stamping down the fear in his stomach. He can do this.

He walks to Louis who’s standing knee deep in the Indian Ocean, hand still reaching out for Zayn. A wave rises up, splashing Zayn’s shorts, startling out a giggle. With Louis holding tightly onto his hand, the sun bringing the hope of a new day, he thinks he’s not so afraid anymore.

\---

Fear grips at Harry’s heart when he opens his eyes to find that he’s alone in the bed. He doesn’t have much time to dwell on it, Niall and Liam banging on his door and telling him to get up. The three walk to the beach munching on fruit and wondering where the other two had disappeared to.

They find out soon enough, stopping short when they see Louis and Zayn curled around each other in the sand.

“That’s never happened before, has it?” Niall asks, staring down at his friends, sleeping peacefully.

“I don’t think so,” Liam answers.

“Hm,” Niall contemplates. “Hate to do this but…” he steps back, lifting his right foot and steadying himself. He lets its kick deeply into the sand, watching in satisfaction when the spray flies high, falling on the two sleeping forms.

One day, Harry thinks, watching how Zayn and Louis sit up in indignation, spitting sand from their mouths, he’s going to sit down and properly study Niall. He’s much too cunning, hiding behind his ruddy smile and easy laughter.

Now though, now he has more important things to do.

“Morning,” Harry drops down beside Louis, brushing sand from his hair. “You weren’t there when I got up.”

“Sorry, Haz,” Louis says, apology sincere, “was planning to, but Zayn and I went for a walk.”

“I can see. I’m surprised. I’m happy,” Harry admits, the truth surprising him too as the words come out. It warms his heart seeing the two of them together.

“You talk like we’re sworn enemies,” Zayn grumbles, throwing some sand at Harry.

Harry doesn’t even mind, “Yeah, but ganging up on me is different from early morning walks.” Another fistful of sand hits his body and Harry just smiles. He leans into Louis, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, his heart thrumming happily.

Sand hits their face, causing them to break apart. Niall looms over, “None of that. Today, we’re going to be the five of us. I demand it. I demand all the attention on me.”

“Aww Nialler, don’t like sleeping alone?” Louis grins up at him.

“No, you fuckers got me used to the snores,” Niall grumbles.

The other four look at each other, silently communicating through wicked grins.

“We’re sorry,” Liam says, innocently.

He does such a fantastic job of it, Niall doesn’t suspect a thing when they each grab a limb of his, picking him up easily. His indignant yells send them into fits of laughter, nearly dropping him twice before they get to the water.

“Put me down,” Niall orders sternly. “I demand it! I’m the king, the king!”

“Of course, your highness,” Louis mocks.

As one, they let go of Niall, dropping him into the ocean with a splash. He comes up spluttering, hair sticking dramatically to his face. Ariel emerging from the water in all her glory, he is not.

“I hate you all,” Niall says calmly, once he rights himself, fixing them each with a glare. He then lunges, taking Liam and Harry down and it quickly delves into a fight, each man for themselves.

\---

“Shots,” Louis crows, carefully placing down the five tequila shots he’d carried over from the bar.

They’re at a party by the water. There’s food being barbequed beside the tent, a constant flow of alcohol coming from the bar beneath the tent. Tables scatter over the beach, people dancing to the loud music that carries over the water.

“To us,” Niall cheers, raising his glass. “To our last night in this fucking amazing country.”

They echo him, downing the shots as one, wincing identically when the alcohol slides down their throat. The song changes to a Hindi remix of _Sorry_ and Harry pulls them all to the dance floor. They’re silly about it, throwing wild shapes and laughing into each other’s necks. Zayn’s more drunk off being with these boys than the actual alcohol, none of them willing to separate to get more drinks from the bar after their first two shots.

Niall’s taken to thrusting his hips at them, hands roaming his body like he’s about to fuck himself. He looks absolutely fucking ridiculous, sending the others doubled over clutching at their sore bellies.

“I need to wee,” Liam gasps, abandoning them and running quickly to the outhouse behind the tent.

Five minutes later, Liam still hasn’t returned and Zayn stops moving, scanning the party for him. He freezes when he sees Liam off to the side, chatting up a guy who’d been staring at him all night. Zayn’s blood runs cold and he stumbles off, dropping to the sand just outside the reach of the party lights.

“Zayn,” Louis approaches him, Niall and Harry trailing behind. The easy euphoria that had accompanied them all night left behind on the dance floor. “I’m sure it’s – “ Louis cuts off, a gasp leaving his mouth.

Zayn lifts his head, following Louis’ gaze. He lets out a broken whimper when his eyes see exactly what Louis’ looking at.

Liam’s hidden in the shadows of the tent, mouth attached to the man. He finds he can’t take his eyes off the sight despite how it’s wrapping around him like a python, crushing him to a dust.

“Zayn,” Harry’s voice breaks through. “Let’s go. I’ll take you home.” He’s got a firm grip on Zayn’s arm, guiding him up.

Even though Harry had been the one offering, Niall and Louis accompany them. He appreciates it, feels loved, but he wants one of them to stay behind. To tell Liam where they’ve gone.

“There you are,” Liam runs up to them. He’s barely panting though they’ve been walking for a few minutes now, the sounds of the party undiscernible in the distance.

“Not now, Li,” Louis fixes him with a hard look.

“What?” Liam looks at them, bewildered. Then he darts his eyes to Zayn and his expression clears. “You saw?” Liam asks.

Zayn nods, trying desperately to break the eye contact but Liam’s got some power over him, holding him in place.

“Good,” Liam says. He’s never looked more confident.

Niall squawks. Harry and Louis whisper something beside him. Zayn doesn’t really know what, his attention solely focussed on Liam, disbelief clouding his thoughts.

“He was my experiment,” Liam says clearly, eyes fixed steadfastly on Zayn’s. “So you don’t have to be.”

Liam then breaks into a fucking huge smile, looking at Zayn like he’s just given him the best gift in the world.

And what? _What?_ What is he trying to say? It’s a bit hard to make sense of the words, Zayn’s chest heaving with the effort it requires to just _think._

Liam’s face falls, it visibly crumples. “I- okay,” Liam coughs. He turns around silently, stalking away.

It’s absolutely silent, identical shock running through the group as they watch Liam’s retreating figure. Then –

“I swear,” Niall grinds out, “I’m surrounded by a bunch of fools. Go.” He hits Zayn in the head, causing Zayn to stumble. It also serves to knock some clarity into his scrambled thoughts.

“Go!” Louis and Harry shout at him in unison.

And Zayn runs.

He runs, faster than he has in his life, not caring when he stubs his toe against a log. He’s never acted with such precision.

Still, as he runs through the winding streets of Colva, he can’t find Liam. This is what he gets for falling for a boy who does physical activity for fun. His best bet is to head back to the bungalow and wait for Liam to show up. Perhaps he’s already there.

He bangs open the front door, an onslaught of relief and joy and trepidation when he sees Liam sitting at the sofa. He bends over, hands on his knees, gulping air into his burning lungs.

“What are you doing here?” Liam asks. His cheeks are stained with dried tear tracks and Zayn’s heart lurches.

Fuck, he’s an idiot.

When his legs stop shaking, when Liam has gotten up, wariness in his posture, Zayn pushes off the front door and slinks toward him.

“Zayn,” Liam says shakily, standing still despite the predatory look on Zayn’s face. “What-

He doesn’t get to finish his question. Zayn’s on him too quickly, hands fisted into Liam’s close cropped curls and drawing their lips together. The kiss is heavy instantly, Zayn licking in hotly, until all he can taste is Liam. He catches each of Liam’s whimpers, each of his gasps. Each moan.

“Mine,” Zayn grits out when he needs to suck more air into his lungs. Liam is staring at him with unfocussed eyes, lips a glistening pink, hands fisted into Zayn’s shirt at his hips. Fuck, he’s so gone for this boy. Can’t fathom how he ever turned him down. “Only mine,” Zayn vows, swooping back in to claim Liam’s mouth in another fierce kiss.

“Zayn,” Liam drags away, eyes regaining a bit of focus. “I’m sorry. With that guy. Just did it for you. You’re not an experiment.”

Zayn nods, overcome with how much he feels for him. He finds himself rendered speechless, wonders if it says something that only Liam has this effect on him.

“Mine,” Zayn breathes against Liam’s lips, the only word he’s capable of saying.

“Yours,” Liam answers, a shudder running through is body. “Always been yours. Since I met you.”

Zayn breaks at the words, biting at Liam’s lips until he opens up again, allowing the kiss to deepen into a conversation that words aren’t capable of saying. Zayn guides Liam to their room, kicking the door shut. They don’t make it very far, stopping in the middle of the room when their cocks meet through cotton.

“Please,” Liam shudders.

“What do you want?” Zayn asks. He can’t believe he’s this lucky. Gets to see Liam like this. “Anything.”

Liam opens his mouth, eyes scrambling over Zayn’s face. “You,” he breathes, clearly just as lost for words as Zayn.

Zayn nods, pressing one hard kiss to Liam’s lips and fumbling with his jeans, before ducking down and stripping away Liam’s jeans and pants with one drag of his hands. He meets Liam’s eyes from where he’s kneeling, slightly stroking Liam’s cock to a full hardness.

“I’m going to give you a blowie,” Zayn says. “Okay?”

From his position, Zayn can see exactly how Liam’s knees buckle, sending him stumbling back until he falls onto the bed. Zayn grins, waiting for Liam to sit back up. He shuffles over on his knees, not caring how eager he looks. Liam captures him in another kiss, hands framing Zayn’s face.

“Okay,” Liam steels himself when he pulls off. “Blow job.”

Zayn smiles wickedly, determined to make this a moment Liam won’t forget. He wraps a hand around Liam again, laughing at how his body shakes when a finger flicks over his tip. His other hand scratches down Liam’s thigh, reveling in the way the muscles jump as the nails scrape over. He doesn’t take his eyes of Liam’s face, happily torturing him into oblivion.

“You’re,” Liam gasps, when Zayn squeezes his tip. “You’re teasing me!”

Zayn’s laugh is bodied, filled with a lightness he’s never felt before, Liam’s look of incredulity mixed with arousal, emblazoned across his eyes.

“Zayn, please,” Liam begs, hips thrusting when Zayn twists his palm. “Don’t tease. Not now.”

Zayn kisses Liam reassuringly, breaking off to swoop down on Liam’s cock. He focuses all his energy on Liam, the noises he makes, the way his hips move, how his hands can’t seem to let go of Zayn’s hair. He feels rather than sees the signs of his impending orgasm, fixes his eyes on Liam’s face, wanting to remember forever how he looks when he comes apart for Zayn for the first time.

It’s enough that all Zayn needs is a few quick tugs from his own hand, orgasm hitting as he kisses Liam back onto the bed.

“I wanted to do that,” Liam pouts when Zayn comes down.

He’s beautiful, lips so swollen, the flush still high in his cheeks. “There’ll be plenty more opportunities,” Zayn promises, knowing now, without a doubt, that this isn’t just a onetime thing.

\---

“Want you to fuck me,” Harry pants when he comes off Louis’ lips with a loud sound. He’s distracted by how Louis looks spread out under his body, stripped down to his pants. He grinds back into Louis’ hardness that’s yearning to be let free, but Harry’s not ready, loving how thick it looks under Louis’ tiny boxers.

“Huh?” Harry says, pinching at Louis’ nipples. He’d missed his answer, so enraptured with this boy.

“Don’t have lube. Or condoms,” Louis repeats. He looks guilty, like it’s his fault they can’t fuck tonight. “Do you?”

Harry flies through the contents of his rucksack, heart plummeting when he realises that he’d never packed any supplies either, sex the furthest thing on his mind when they’d planned the trip.

“No,” Harry groans, falling dramatically onto Louis and biting his neck. “I can’t believe you won’t fuck me tonight.” He licks into Louis’ ear, laughing loudly when Louis shrieks away.

“Stop, Haz,” Louis chides, pinching Harry’s own boxer clad bum. “Niall said we couldn’t make any noise.”

Harry giggles harder, not bothering to keep it down, despite Niall’s very real threat when they’d returned a half hour after Zayn had ran after Liam. There’d been some distinct moans coming from Zayn and Liam’s room and Niall fixed them with a glare. _We have to be up in three hours. If I hear so much as a peep from your room_ , _I swear._ He’d never bothered with an actual desciption of what he’d do, but he’d looked threatening enough that Louis and Harry had both promised they’d keep it down.

“Blow jobs, then,” Harry decides, sitting back up on Louis’ dick. He’s determined to last until they’re both naked this time.

“Harry, wait,” Louis says making Harry pause in his attempts to free Louis’ dick.

“What?” Harry pouts. It slides off his face when he looks up at Louis and sees the seriousness in the lines around his mouth.

Louis looks away, “There’s something I have to tell you.”

Harry stills, letting his eyes fall shut. He can’t believe Louis is choosing now to turn him down. “Now?” The part of him that has no shame wishes for tonight to not be marred by this.

“Yes,” Louis says firmly, a new resolve in his tone.

“What is it?” Harry asks, determined to keep the tears out of his voice.

Louis’ words are rushed. “In Italy, I, I lost my virginity too.”

“Oh,” the knowledge that Louis hadn’t just kicked him out wars with the message he’s trying to convey. “With that guy from the first night?” He finds he can breathe a little bit easier, the task from before back at the forefront of this mind. He reaches into Louis’ pants, wrapping a hand around Louis. “Thought you’d done it before.”

“No, Hazza,” Louis wraps a hand around Harry’s wrist, stopping his efforts for the second time. “With you.”

Harry’s hand falls away.

“What do you mean, ‘with me’?” he whispers.

“That night, it was my first times too,” Louis tries for nonchalance. If Harry wasn’t so confused, he’d laugh at his lame effort.

He slides off Louis letting the words wash over him, trying to stamp down the hysteria. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“Does it matter?” Louis bites his lip.

“Clearly it does since you hid it,” Harry spits out, unsure where the anger is coming from. Why it’s rearing its ugly head now.

“Don’t know why you’re making this such a big deal,” Louis sits up too. His arms are crossed, and he looks defiant.

“I’m not. You’re the one,” Harry accuses, wishing desperately that Louis hadn’t said anything.

“Me?” Louis scoffs. “That’s rich.”

“I don’t understand,” Harry shakes his head, trying to clear his mind. “How could you keep such a big secret from me?”

“It’s not _that_ big of a secret,” Louis deflects.

“It is,” Harry insists. “I was in awe of you. I looked up to you.”

Louis stills. The anger in his eyes ebbs, giving away to curiosity. “Why does it matter?” he asks again, tone a lot more gentle.

“It just _, does_ ,” Harry flounders. How is Louis not grasping the severity of his actions?

Frustration creeps into Louis’ voice, hardening it when he says, “You just wanted a boy to touch your dick.”

“What?” Harry’s mouth drops open, the accusation slicing through his core.

“Besides,” Louis says scathingly, “not like it was that good anyways. Casual sex never is, right?”

The knife in Harry’s stomach twists, and he fumbles back, catching himself just before he falls off the bed. He feels the tears starting to fill his eyes and he gets off the bed hurriedly. He refuses to let Louis see him cry again.

“Wait, Haz, that’s not what I meant,” Louis hastens, trying to scramble up after Harry. He doesn’t get anywhere, legs tangled horribly with the sheets, unable to stop Harry from throwing on a pair of shorts and a shirt.

It doesn’t matter, his words already leaving their mark. Harry stops at the door, back toward Louis, incapable of turning around to face him.

“I didn’t want any boy. I just wanted you.”

\---

It’s not Louis’ words that haunt Harry on his escape to the beach. It’s Zayn’s. The accusation that he’s too much of a coward to look at his own feelings reverberates around his mind.

The first year at college, when a young Zayn and Harry had been roomed together, there had been a third friend in their group. A friend who’d taken a shine to Harry, and gave his heart to him. And Harry had taken it all, loving the attention. He’d been told he was a charmer all his life, never stopping to think of its implications. When Aaron had pulled Harry into a room lit with candles and flower petals, and confessed his love for him, Harry had shrugged it off, silently judging Aaron. He’d let him down gently, ensured he was okay and then ran to Zayn, asking if he could believe it, believe that Aaron had actually fallen for him.

Zayn had believed it. Believed it because he’d watched all along how Aaron had worn his heart on his sleeve and at every instance, Harry had gladly accepted it, despite no real feelings for Aaron. Zayn had been the first person to ever call Harry out, told him that in his desire for attention, he’d toyed with Aaron’s feelings, refused to see how his actions had hurt their friend.

The bang of the door as Zayn walked out still resonates. For the first time in his short life, Harry had sat down to truly contemplate his actions. How he’d not only let Aaron down, but a handful of other people in his life. He’d always brushed it off, said it wasn’t his fault that his friendliness was taken as flirting. That day, when he’d finally analysed himself, the way he analysed societies and cultures, he’d seen with clarity that he _had_ led those people on just so he could always be the center of attention. Willingly given them tidbits of himself so that they’d look at him with adoration. Instead of backing away when they hinted at more, Harry had spurred them on, basking in the glow.

He’d come away hating what he’d discovered about himself. It had taken Zayn returning to their room to pull Harry out of his head, to assure him that he was worth loving. That he’d made some mistakes in the past and had the ability to right them.

Harry had righted his wrongs. But since then, he’d kept everyone at a distance, ensuring he’d never have to examine his feelings, himself, lest he find something else he couldn’t handle.

He blinks taking in the ocean, not knowing how long he’d been standing there. He sinks to the cool sand, burying his head in his hands.

He supposes it’s high time for another introspection.

He inhales a deep breath, smelling the salt in the air. He can do this.

He thinks of Louis, of all the questions he’d asked Harry and how Harry had never been able to answer any of them. Of the disappointment in Louis’s eyes every time Harry evaded one of the questions.

Like watching a movie playback, scenes of him and Louis reel through his head. He looks at each with new clarity, a forced objectivity.

There’s a Louis who’d known his middle name when Carl hadn’t. A Louis who’s able to recite his own words back to him. A Louis who plays with his hair, had taken him to meet his family in Doncaster. A Louis who confides in him when work gets too much, who might flirt with men at the bars but always comes home to Harry. Who Zayn refused to get close to lest he break Harry’s heart.

Who’d lost his virginity to Harry.

He lifts his head from his hands, wiping at the surprising wetness on his cheeks.

What he finds doesn’t hit him with a heavy force. It’s a softer acceptance of a truth he’d always known but been too scared to ever admit. At every moment in their lives together, Louis has been in love with Harry. A love that Harry refused to acknowledge because he’d convinced himself he didn’t deserve to be loved. And a Harry that didn’t deserve love, didn’t deserve Louis.

He finds he can breathe easier, his lungs expanding after years of self-imposed constriction and fear.

He’s not so disappointed of who he’s become. He’d learned from his mistakes, had improved for the better. He can let himself love Louis like Louis loves him.

Because he does. He is. Is in love with Louis.

If Zayn were here, he’d smack him upside the head.

“Harry?”

Harry startles, turning around at the intrusion.

“Liam?”

Liam nods. It’s hard to make out his features in the darkness, the moon not providing nearly enough light.

“What are you doing here?” Harry asks, patting the sand beside him.

Liam sits down, ducking his head. “Just needed to think.”

Harry gets that. He snorts, because that’s an understatement if there ever was one. “Me too.” He frowns suddenly, noticing that Liam’s alone. “Where’s Zayn.”

“Uh,” Liam scratches his neck. “He’s sleeping.”

Harry knows Liam’s a kind person. He’s Louis’ best friend, the apple of Zayn’s eye and all that nonsense. Still, there’s a warning in Harry’s voice when he repeats, “Liam.”

“No, Harry, I swear, I just needed to clear my head. Zayn, he can be…”

“A lot? Too much? A force to reckon with?” Harry offers a list.

Liam laughs, lightly. His words are a lot more serious, “All of the above and more.”

Harry allows him that, not in a place to prod.

“Wait,” Liam asks. “What are you doing here?”

“Needed to think,” Harry smiles.

“You’re not going to hurt Louis again?” Liam questions. He looks serious, eyebrows drawn together.

“No,” Harry promises. He won’t. He’s finally ready to clear things up, tell Louis the truth. “You’re not going to hurt Zayn?”

“No,” Liam promises back.

A slight breeze passes by, making them shiver. Harry throws an arm around Liam, drawing him in. There’s a lot more to say. For now, they’re content being two friends, sitting by a beach, on the last night of a very life changing trip.

\---

Harry’s phone wakes him up with a start, his alarm for their early flight shrill against the soothing brush of waves. He looks blearily at the screen, thumbing passed the multiple alarms he’d slept through.

“Fuck, Liam, we fell asleep,” Harry shakes Liam awake.

They sprint back to the bungalow, the sun only starting to get up too. They’re panting when they get back, Zayn and Louis sitting on the sofa with identical looks of stoniness. Neither flinch when Liam and Harry barge through the door.

“Ready?” Niall emerges from his room, rucksack perched on his back, notebook in his hand. He takes one look at Zayn and Louis then darts over to the dishevelled state of Liam and Harry, and shoves his notebook into his pocket. His face hardens and he storms out. “Fuck you all.”

A taxi honks, pushing Liam and Harry into action. They throw their belongings haphazardly into their bags and fly into the waiting taxi.

“Zayn,” Liam attempts when the taxi’s engine revs.

“Please,” Zayn lets his head fall into the window. “Don’t.”

Liam sags in his seat and Harry squeezes his hand. He doesn’t even bother talking to Louis, knowing very well that it’ll probably fare worse.

They travel back to London drawn into themselves, saying their own goodbyes to India. Despite the tense atmosphere amongst the group, Harry doubts any of them regret taking this trip together.

\---

**London.**

“Well, I feel like shit,” Harry says, emerging from his bedroom.

Zayn agrees. They’d showered and napped and he still feels like crawling back into his bed and never coming out. Harry flops onto the opposite end of the sofa, dropping his feet into Zayn’s lap. It’s nearly midnight and they’re wide awake, jet lag working its cruel power.

“Thought the point of this trip was to come out rejuvenated,” Harry whines, prodding at Zayn’s belly until Zayn gives in and rubs his feet. He moans dramatically, his head dropping over the sofa’s arm.

“I hate you,” Zayn pinches Harry’s toe.

“No you don’t,” Harry lifts his head back up, fixing Zayn with serious look. He can see the uncertainty pulling at Harry’s eyes.

“Of course I don’t,” Zayn presses his thumbs into Harry’s arch. He digs in a nail when Harry ignores his unasked question.

“You and Louis were getting awfully close,” Harry shrugs.

“H,” Zayn waits until Harry’s looking at him. “You know I love you. Nothing is going to change that, no matter what’s going on with you and Louis.”

“You shouldn’t love me so unconditionally,” Harry sighs, blinking his eyes rapidly.

He’s said that before. Only once. When Zayn had picked his friendship over Aaron’s.

Zayn’s eyes widen, “You’ve been doing some thinking.”

“Don’t gloat,” Harry pokes him with his other foot. “It doesn’t look good on you.”

“Lies,” Zayn chortles. “I always look good.”

Harry huffs, not even bothering to counter the statement. “Louis scares me.”

“I know,” Zayn answers easily.

“Terrifies me.”

“I know.” He watches Harry’s chest heave.

“Rome, it meant as much to both of us.”

“Not just Rome, H.” Zayn’s so proud of this boy.

“Zayn,” Harry looks at him, a hint of fear in the lines around his mouth. “I-

Zayn wants to roll his eyes. He does. It’s like the past five years of teaching Harry to own his feelings need the final push. “Just say it.”

“I-“

Zayn narrows his eyes at Harry.

“I love him.” Despite the struggle to get the words out, Harry looks much too calm for this to have been the first time he’s realising this.

“Wanker,” he throws a cushion at Harry. “When did you figure this out?”

“Last night. After he told me Rome was his first time too.”

“Mhm,” Zayn waits for him to continue.

“I panicked and ran away.”

“So proud of you,” Zayn snorts.

“Did some reflection on the beach. Liam joined me.”

Zayn tenses. He’d woken that morning to an empty bed and a sinking feeling at the knowledge that it had been too much for Liam. He’d picked himself up, refusing to make the same mistake again. Fool him once, shame on you. You’d never get a chance to fool him twice.

“You need to give him a chance to explain,” Harry says.

Five years ago, when Zayn glared at Harry, Harry would panic and shut up. Now, he simply pokes him with his foot and glares back.

“Zayn, what’s the worst plot device ever?” Harry’s glare breaks into a mischievous grin.  

Zayn sighs. “I hate you.”

“Say it,” Harry teases.

“Miscommunication,” Zayn grumbles, acquiescing to the truth behind Harry’s words. “If we’re doing this, you’re making me tea first.”

\---

It’s half past midnight when they get onto the tube. The ride isn’t long to Liam’s and Louis’. It still feels like eternity, Harry’s leg jiggling.

Zayn gets a hand on his knee and stills it. “Stop.”

Harry scowls at him and then slumps into his shoulder. “I feel like this should have an epic soundtrack.” He’s about to confess his love to Louis. This conversation is _going_ to be life changing.

Zayn sighs, pulling out his phone. He hands it to Harry letting him thumb through the music selection, accepting the earbud Harry offers him.

He waits for Zayn’s predictable snort and eye roll when the first notes of _Kuch Kuch Hota Hai_ thrums through.

“Prolong the magic of India,” Harry grins at him.

He allows his head to rest on Zayn’s shoulder, thinking of the lyrics of the song. How something changes when that special person walks into your life. He remembers the way it had just clicked with Louis. How he’d kissed numerous boys after him, wondering why it had never felt the same.

The tube continues forward, Harry’s heartbeat picking up with it. He realises it’s not the thrum of fear and crushing emotion. What he’s feeling now – it’s a blissful excitement. Not unlike a child awaiting Christmas morning, a teenager waiting for their first concert. He truly did leave his fears behind on the beach in Goa, left with the sheer desire to tell Louis the truth.

The song ends just in time for them to get off the tube. Harry forces his hands to stop trembling, shoving them in the pockets of his jumper.

They reach the entrance to the building they’ve both become much too familiar with. The door opens.

Louis and Liam step out.

“What are you doing here?” Louis asks, staring at Harry.

“What are _you_ doing here?” Harry fires back, eyes drinking in Louis’ freshly shaven face and soft fringe. He itches to reach out and touch.

“We live here,” Liam offers. Always the voice of logic.

“All of us can’t be in the same place tonight,” Louis folds his arms.

“We’ll go,” Zayn finally speaks up. Harry notes how he’s biting his lip, fingers fidgeting with the keys in his pocket. Zayn’s nervous and it’s quite inappropriate of Harry to be delighting in that so much. “I want the fresh air for a bit.”

Harry watches Liam and Zayn leave before turning around to follow Louis up the stairs. He’s glad they live on the third floor, easily accessible by stairs. The thought of standing in an enclosed space with Louis would be too much to handle. Without a proper conversation. He focuses on placing one foot in front of the other, his body thrumming with barely suppressed longing with each step.

“Tea?” Louis asks when they’re in his flat, shoes kicked off at the door.

“Uh, no thanks,” Harry says. “Just had some.”

“Suit yourself,” Louis putters about making himself a cup. He takes long minutes waiting for the bag to steep. Harry suspects he’s doing it to make him squirm, knowing Louis likes his tea a bit lighter at night.

He sinks into the chair at the table gratefully when Louis deems his tea ready. A part of him wants to laugh at how they’re sitting across from each other, so prim and proper, postures more appropriate for a business meeting than a love declaration.

Harry clears his throat, clasping his hands together. “So.”

“So,” Louis bows his head, mimicking Harry’s stance. Harry catches the twitch of a lip, a bright light blooming in his chest that despite it all, Louis’ still able to laugh with him.

“We should go into this on equal footing. You tell me something, I tell you something.”

“Ok,” Louis nods, slowly, teasing replaced with seriousness. “I like that. I can go first?”

Harry gives him the ok, fascinated how the armour melts off Louis, leaving him vulnerable.

“I didn’t tell you back in Rome because I was so gone for you, even back then,” Louis dives in. Harry’s breathe hitches at the admission of Louis’ feelings, having slipped out without intent. He wants to shout his own back. Instead, he sits still, waiting patiently for Louis to finish. “I was afraid that if I told you, you wouldn’t look at me the same, wouldn’t want to have anything to do with me. I was being selfish.”

“Why still keep it a secret?” Harry wonders.

Louis shakes his head, “Your turn.”

Harry shoots him a small smile, trying to figure out which confession he should start with. “The night, when Carl proposed, I wanted to get rid of him so I could come back to you. I told him as such.”

Louis guffaws, spitting tea out of his mouth.

“Sexy,” Harry grins, handing him a tissue.

“I kept it a secret because there was never a right time,” Louis wipes the tea from his fingers. He returns his attention to Harry, “The more time we spent together, the harder I was falling for you. The longer I didn’t tell you, the more significant it became until it was too intricately tied with my feelings.”

That’s the second time Louis’ inadvertently confessed and Harry’s heart sings. He doesn’t bother dampening his eagerness, reaching across the table to hold onto Louis’ hands, tea be damned.

“Rome meant everything to me,” Harry confesses. “I still have my old Blackberry. I’d power it up occasionally to read through our messages. I compared everyone I kissed to you. It wasn’t just casual sex.”

“I’m sorry I said it wasn’t great,” Louis thumbs over his pulse. “It’s still the best I’ve ever had.

“Me too,” Harry’s smile is watery. He supposes they could just ignore the rest of the talk and just kiss already. He’s determined to see this through though.

“I heard you tell Zayn that what we were doing was just fun, back in Jaipur. That it didn’t mean anything,” Louis clarifies.

Oh. Oh. _Oh._

It all finally makes sense, how Louis had withdrawn from that day on. Harry slumps back, hating that Louis overheard him when he was being so careless with his words.

“Plus,” Louis continues, “with what you said at _This Town_ that day – that one night stands were meaningless, I figured you could never…”

“Lou,” Harry shakes his head furiously, angry that he’d ever let Louis question his chances. There’s a whole bodied urgency that he explain _now._ Right the wrongs.

He walks around the table to sit beside Louis, pressing his forehead against his. He can’t do much to quell the trembling of his hands, choosing to entwine his fingers with Louis’. He desperately wants to kiss away his doubts, show him how much he loves him. He keeps reminding himself he has to _tell_ him first.

He pulls away, pressing a kiss to Louis’ cheek. “There’s something you need to know,” Harry begins, the telltale clamminess of his hands arising, his heart beginning to beat rapidly in his chest. It’s one thing to admit the truth to himself, another to bare his soul to someone else. Someone who it belongs to.

He tells him about Aaron, about the bone-crippling realisations. Leans his face into Louis’ palm when it comes up to brush away his tears. Thumbs at the frown lines that deepen in Louis’ face as his story draws to an end.

“Hazza, flirting isn’t a bad thing. You’re not a bad person,” Louis tries to negate.

“No,” Harry speaks over him. “Lou, I’m not telling you this to gain sympathy or have you defend my honour. I need you to understand.” His voice catches and he pushes himself to continue, hands clutching onto Louis’ like a lifeline. “You terrify me. I can’t think when I’m around you and it scares me shitless. I observe other people, Lou. That’s what I do, what I’ve always done. I’ve never been good at looking at my own thoughts and actions, questioning my own motives. Ever since Aaron, I’ve intentionally avoided doing it. I don’t want to know what else I’d find.”

“Well,” Louis’ voice is firm and authoritative, “I know you. I’ve spent enough of time getting to know you for the both of us.”

“Yeah?” Harry’s laugh is mixed with a sob. “What have you learned?”

“You’re infuriating as hell,” Louis starts, making Harry laugh harder, his tears flow faster. “You’re funny and yes, you’re charming and absolutely, fucking, beautiful. You have the largest heart of anyone I know.” Harry goes to protest, because has Louis met himself? Louis’ finger to his lips shuts him up. “And after what you’ve told me, you’re even more wonderful to have taken such a sour moment and changed yourself for the better.” He holds Harry’s face in his hands, lifting it so their eyes meet.

For the first time, Harry allows himself to acknowledge in person what’s always been reflected in Louis’ eyes, for what it really is – pure, wholly consuming, _love_. 

“Can we stop talking now?” Louis asks simply.

“Lou,” Harry needs to get it out, the urge overwhelming ever since he’d admitted it. “I _love_ you.” His voice breaks on the word.

Louis’ own eyes fills with unshed tears that he does a horrible job of blinking back. “Good, because I love you too.”

He seals it by kissing Harry.

The words reverberate through Harry’s head, mind so wholly focussed on how they’ve admitted their love for each other that he forgets to kiss Louis back.

Louis’ fingers find the strip of skin just above Harry’s joggers and pinches it. “Kiss me back,” he demands into Harry’s lips.

Harry giggles, bringing his arms around Louis’ waist and kisses him back. He opens his mouth readily, bubbles fizzing through his veins when their tongue meets. This is it. This is what Harry at all ages of his life has wanted.

He gets up, lifting Louis off his chair so his legs can wrap around Harry’s waist. Harry walks them to Louis’ room, mouth detaching to kiss down Louis’ neck.

“I have lube and condoms,” Louis whispers in his ear.

Harry groans, the idea that they’re going to be fucking tonight finally hitting him. He sets Louis down on the bed parting their lips with a slick sound.

“I hated that I kept coming in my pants. I promise I’m good for more,” Harry says.

“Are you kidding me?” Louis widens his eyes in incredulity. “Babe, you have any idea what that does to me? To know that I can make you come in your pants? Come here,” he tries to draw Harry onto the bed with him.

Harry resists, undeterred. “Nope,” he shucks his jumper over his head, grinning at how Louis’ pupils dilate automatically. “I refuse to let it happen again. I’m getting naked first.”

Louis bats his hands away, “Let me do it at least.” He pulls off Harry’s socks and then his joggers, leaving him standing in his tiny black pants. Louis licks his lips. “Are you sure you want these off? Look so good in them.” He snaps the elastic, the sting sending jolts off arousal straight to Harry’s cock.

Harry pounces on him, trapping Louis’ hands over their head and kissing him with the intensity only Louis’ been able to draw out. “Don’t know why I love you,” Harry breaks the kiss, groaning when Louis thrusts his hardness into Harry’s.

“Because you love me,” Louis gasps, head thrown back.

“Not making any sense,” Harry momentarily leaves Louis’ lips, mouth watering at the elongated neck. He sucks kisses along the column of golden tanned skin, drawing Louis’ shirt down so can mark the dips in his collarbone. “Still love you,” he admits lifting off to admire his work.

Louis looks a bit delirious when Harry brings his gaze back to his face. “Get me naked, Hazza. Come _on.”_

Harry complies easily, slightly taken aback at how Louis responds to being stripped down until he’s a naked shivering mess under Harry. Harry rakes his fingers down Louis’ body, nails catching on Louis’ pebbled nipples. He’s so responsive, his dick hard and flushed pink, leaking right under the tiny swell of his stomach. He runs a light finger down Louis’ cock, taking a moment to appreciate that this is the first time he’s seeing Louis naked.

His mind has never been so clear, despite the heady mix of lust and love. He meets Louis’ eyes, beaming at him when he sees the same emotions clearly written there.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Harry says reverently.

Louis blushes. He reaches for Harry’s pants and finally, finally, the dratted clothing comes off, leaving Harry naked as well, his own cock standing proudly.

Louis turns them over so he’s straddling Harry. “My turn,” he says, eyes taking in every inch of Harry’s body, darkening to an almost black by the time they return to Harry’s face.

“Yup,” Louis bites on his bottom lip.

“What?” Harry asks, unsure if he wants to free Louis’ lip or claim it with his own teeth.

“Can’t have sex with you.”

“What? Why?” Harry sits up, dislodging Louis onto the bed in between his legs.

“Have you seen your body?” Louis shakes his head sadly. “Just not up to my standards.”

Harry narrows his eyes at Louis’ frown. “Oh really?”

Louis nods, eyes rounded solemnly. He squeezes Harry’s arms, fingers unable to completely enclose around his biceps. “These aren’t strong enough to hold me.” He runs his hands down Harry’s chest, bottom lip jutting out. “Skin’s not soft enough. Going to burn my own.” He brings his knuckles down to Harry’s abs, taut with how Harry’s trying to hold in his laughter. Louis’ façade slips for a brief moment, lips twitching up. “So floppy. I have standards you know?” He finally brings his hands to rest on Harry’s thighs, staring forlornly at his dick. “And how will this ever satisfy my needs?”

“Are you quite finished?” Harry asks, his own lips pressed tightly together.

“Oh no,” Louis grins at him, wickedly. “I’m just getting started. Haven’t gotten to your chicken legs or awkward toes.”

Harry pounces on Louis, completely bypassing his lips to attach his mouth to Louis’ nipple. He pulls one, pinching and rolling it, while his teeth mercilessly work the other. Harry works Louis until he’s a writhing mess under him, begging for Harry to touch him properly.

“You’re right,” Harry muses, flicking one last time at a puffy nipple. “We shouldn’t have sex.” He crawls back to the head of bed, smirking as Louis sits up at the foot, scowling at him.

“You’re going to finish what you started,” Louis looks at him through a brilliant flush creeping up from his chest and high into his cheeks.

Harry pulls lazily at his cock, hissing at how hard he is. “Not sure I can satisfy you. You deserve the best after all, my love.”

Louis glares at him. He crawls over to the bedside table, roughly pulling a draw open and coming away with a handful of condoms and lube. Louis crawls back to Harry and sits himself on his stomach, looking proud and haughty. Harry watches him with bright interest, holding his giggles back.

“When I was eighteen,” Louis says conversationally, flicking open the bottle of lube with one hand and bringing Harry’s right palm over with his other. “I met this kid.”

“Oo, is it me?” Harry asks excitedly, feeling the cold lube slide onto his fingers. He slicks them up without being told.

“Horrible head of curls,” Louis ignores him. “A right mess. Kid thought it was cute.”

“Heyy,” Harry pouts.

“Had a penchant for being naked. Liked to flash his dick around whenever he could.” Louis continues, moving up said dick so it can nestle up into his crack.

Harry gasps at the feeling, of how well his cock fits against Louis, wanting nothing more than to be inside him already.

“Promised myself,” Louis guides Harry’s lubed hand to his arse, shifting so Harry has easy access, “I’d get it in me one day. Imagine my annoyance,” Louis’ story pauses so he can moan at the first insertion of Harry’s finger into his hole. When he picks up, his voice trembles, both from Harry’s finger and with the exertion of pretending he isn’t affected. “When I finally get to be fucked by this dick, he takes the opportunity away from me.”

Harry adds another finger, hips twitching at the way Louis shivers. He fucks in deeper, crooking his fingers when he brushes against Louis’ prostate. Louis slumps into him, panting hotly against Harry’s neck.

“Anyone told you, you talk too much?” Harry rubs firmly against his prostate.

Louis slurs, too wrecked to articulate. He somehow manages to say, “Boy I love told me he loves hearing me talk.”

Memories of what they’ve overcome to get to this moment upends Harry. He removes his fingers from Louis, kissing away his whines.

“I’m sorry I ever let you doubt we’d be together,” Harry whispers between kisses. “I’m sorry it took me so long to tell you I love you.”

Louis shakes his head, kissing Harry fervently. “I’m sorry I shut you out. Sorry I didn’t talk to you like an adult.”

“Is that what you are?” Harry laughs into Louis’ mouth.

“Two years older and you better never forget it,” Louis bites his lip, rocking his arse into Harry’s cock.

Harry palms Louis’ arse, kissing him deeply, swallowing his moans. The reference to their age difference doesn’t upset him. He knows now that that was never the issue.

He flips them over so Louis is flat on his back and Harry gets back to opening him up with renewed vigour and precision. He alternates between kissing Louis and then staring at him in awe, fucking his fingers into Louis’ hole, opening him up.

“Hazza, ‘m ready,” Louis’s chest heaves, a darker pink. “Please.” His cocks dribbles a bit when Harry strokes his prostate firmly before removing his fingers.

Louis’ already got the condom waiting. The gentleness with which he rolls it onto Harry’s cock has Harry convinced he’s not going to last very long. Harry squeezes the base, wanting to draw this out. Louis pulls Harry down for a kiss, nipping at Harry’s lips.

“It’s going to be fucking amazing, Curly. Just because it’s you and me.”

Harry nods, biceps shaking as he holds himself up so he can keep look into Louis’ eyes when he presses at Louis’ entrance. He doesn’t look away, sliding all the way in.

It feels like coming home.

\---

They walk through the streets, the homes around them dark. The street lamps cast a dull light, enough to illuminate their next steps. Zayn has so many questions hurtling through his mind. He keeps quiet though. It’s not his turn to talk. He wasn’t the one who left last night. Wasn’t the one who’d made a promise and then disappeared.

He’s content to wait until Liam speaks.

They reach a small park, the metal of the slides worn down from years of wear and tear. There’s rust around the bolts, visible even under the dim lights. Liam makes his way to the swings and takes a seat on one. He holds onto the other one in a silent invitation.

Zayn stands at the edge, gazing at this boy, who despite everything he’s done, still manages to be so hopelessly endearing. Picking a playground to have a serious conversation.

“Zayn?” Liam’s voice floats over.

Zayn shakes his head, listening to the crunch of his trainers on the pebbles and takes a seat on the swing Liam’s holding onto for him. He curls his fingers around the metal chain, letting his body sway.

“I’d like to talk,” Liam says, tentatively.

“I won’t stop you,” Zayn answers.

He avoids looking at Liam, worried he’ll fall victim to his expressive face. He keeps his eyes trained on the scuffed path underneath the swing, digging the toe of his shoe into it.

“When I met Jane,” Liam begins, and Zayn’s head flies up in surprise, his resolve to not look at Liam lying with the pebbles at his feet. Liam isn’t looking at him, gaze fixed straight ahead. “We had gone on a date our mums set up. Can’t remember how her mum knew mine, but they did somehow. It was a good date, textbook almost. We talked, we laughed. I told her I’d call her after and I did. It’s like someone actually gave me a guide of how to be in a relationship and I kept ticking off points as I went along. Dating by numbers.”

His words are steady and Zayn’s absolutely certain that Liam had written this down. Practiced what to say and how to say it. It reaches into his heart and tugs on its strings.

“I didn’t know how mundane it had become. Always had been. There was no real spark. No excitement. I didn’t know better. Thought that that’s how relationships were meant to be,” Liam shrugs.

There’s no self-pity in his voice, yet Zayn’s longs to provide comfort. He unwraps a hand from his swing and reaches over to cover Liam’s.

Liam looks at Zayn’s hand in amazement, staring at it for a long moment. He bends down and kisses Zayn’s fingers, a silent thank you. Then, he looks at Zayn and Zayn’s heart lurches.

“Then I met you,” Liam breathes. His voice changes its cadence, emotion lacing through. “It’s horrible since that night was so crappy for Harry, but I just, I didn’t care. I’ve never seen anyone more beautiful.”

“What?” Zayn goes to protest, because has Liam even looked in a mirror?

“Shh…. I’m talking,” Liam teases. With that simple smile, Zayn immediately forgets why he was upset in the first place, the beauty of it knocking his breath. Liam’s next words are jumbled, like he’s going off script. “You said you’d let me talk. You were… intense. You could talk to me about the nuances of life and we could be serious. And then,” Liam lets out a small chuckle, eyes never leaving Zayn’s, “we’d talk about comics for hours and you’d walk around with a paper bag on your head just to make me laugh. It’s like I was living inside these closed walls, and suddenly you came into my life and you took my hand.” His eyes are filling with tears, and he chokes on his next words. “You showed me the _world_.”

“Li,” Zayn swings his legs over to entangle with Liam’s bringing his other hand to clasp over Liam’s on Liam’s swing. Up close, he can count every eyelash, see the way his lips are cracked from being bitten too much. He wants to kiss him, to never stop kissing him, tell him that he changed his life too. 

“I was talking to Ruth about you one day and she called you my Aladdin. That’s when I realised. What you were giving, even just as a friend, was more than what I could ever hope to find with Jane. I broke up with her that night.”

Zayn’s heart does a summersault in his chest at how Liam’s feelings for him run deeper. Deeper than just a physical attraction and the anatomy of his genitals.

“Why did you leave this morning?” Zayn murmurs, needing to know the truth before he dives in.

Liam closes his eyes. “I woke up next to you. After six months of falling for you without realising it, even more months of wondering what if, and suddenly - you were, just, _there_.” He opens his eyes and Zayn’s mouth runs dry at the emotion, the honesty, the _love_ in them. “I dated Jane for two years and I couldn’t picture what the next day would look like. I spent one night with you and I could see my _forever._ ”

Zayn frees one of his hands, brushing the tears from Liam’s face. He entwines their swings together once.

“Zayn, please. I just needed a moment to let it sink in. That it was finally happening. Harry and I, we didn’t mean to fall asleep on the beach. I was going to come back. I did come back. Last night, it’s never been that good. No matter who I’ve slept with. It’s never been that good.” Liam’s no longer crying, his words rushed, eager, his eyes begging Zayn to believe him.

Zayn bites his lip, turning their swings together another time. “Because it was with a guy?” He knows he’s being stubborn, but he wants to hear it all. He’s always been greedy.

“Because it was _you_.”

Zayn contemplates Liam’s words as he intertwines their swing chains around and around, forcing them to move their hands lower on the chain to avoid being caught up in the twist.

“Okay.”

“Wait,” Liam asks, incredulous, despite how he’d been pleading. “You believe me?

“Your eyes can’t lie, Li,” Zayn grins, and then, he kisses him.

Their swings fly as they unravel, sending them spinning in dizzy circles and Zayn kisses Liam through it, kisses him and kisses him, kisses him until their swings are fully apart, the only thing keeping together are their lips and entangled legs. 

When they finally stop kissing, they take a taxi back to Zayn’s. His hand never leaves Liam, his blood never settles in his veins. It’s like they’re under a spell, the air around them so fragile, waiting to be broken with a touch, a kiss, _anything._

Zayn doesn’t recall much about the ride home or the lift ride up. Time passes in stolen glances and shy smiles, a strange nervousness now that everything has been sorted. No more pining, no more miscommunication. This is it.

He unlocks the door to the flat with trembling hands. Liam stands a few inches behind him, not touching but still palpable. When he finally opens the door, Liam’s quicker in taking off his shoes, disappearing down the corridor into Zayn’s room while Zayn’s still struggling to take off his trainers. He scrubs a hand over his face, needing to fix his lust and love addled brain before he joins Liam.

Liam’s sitting on his bed, toying with the hem of his shirt when Zayn walks in. “Can we take it slow? Ease into the big stuff?”

“Li…” Zayn trails off. “Of course, babe. Anything you want.”

Liam gets off the bed and walks to Zayn, never breaking the eye contact. His mind can’t see anything passed the strength in Liam’s arms, the pinkness of his lips, the expression in his eyes, and Zayn has to remind himself to suck in a ragged breath. Liam places his palms on Zayn’s ribcage, feeling how it expands with each burning inhale that Zayn takes.

“Just so you know,” Liam says, fisting Zayn’s tee in his palms, dragging the fabric up Zayn’s body and tossing it away, “I love you.”

He crashes his lips into Zayn’s, kissing with an almost bruising pressure that sends Zayn’s mind reeling. He tries to lift off Liam’s shirt, getting it caught around his arms because they’re both loathe to let go, to stop kissing.

“What,” Zayn gasps, his body on fire, “what do you want?”

He doesn’t really give Liam a chance to answer, pushing off the door and guiding Liam to the bed. They fall back in a heap, sucking hard kisses, never letting go.

“Zayn,” Liam heaves, his chest rising and falling with exerted gasps. It sends a thrill through Zayn, the knowledge that he’s never seen Liam breathe so heavily despite the excessive workouts that Zayn’s spied on.

He bends down to kiss Liam’s words away, unable to ease up to let him speak. He fists his hands into Liam’s short curls, relishing in how Liam’s hips buck up, undeterred. Liam’s erection presses into Zayn’s thigh and he tugs harder, pure arousal lighting his blood on fire.

“Please,” Liam manages to get out, hands wildly roaming along Zayn’s back. “I want you to suck me off. Loved how your mouth felt around me. So perfect.”

Zayn growls low in his throat, Liam’s words upending any semblance of control he was holding on to.

“Did you like it?” Zayn leans up, staring into Liam’s blown brown eyes. “When I sucked you down? Got my mouth around you? Made you come with my tongue?”

Liam shuts his eyes tight, mouth falling open. All he can do is nod his head desperately.

Zayn wastes no time sliding down Liam’s chest, running his hands through his chest hair and scraping his nails along heated skin. Each touch elicits a litany of praise from Liam’s lips, his moans beautiful music to Zayn’s ears.

Zayn tugs town Liam’s joggers and pants, marvelling at how his dick springs out. Seeing it before him again reminds him of how it felt on his tongue, the perfect weight, the perfect girth. He swallows hard, his desire to get his mouth around Liam much too powerful.

“No teasing this time,” Liam tries to make him promise.

Zayn just laughs, sending hot puffs of air on to Liam’s cock, watching in delight as it twitches. “I’ll see.”

But he does as Liam asks, going in with focus. Zayn gives Liam’s slit a firm lick, gathering the saltiness in his tongue. He circles around the head before sucking it in, creating a tight pressure. Liam’s hips jump off the bed.

“Tsk, Li,” Zayn lifts off to fix Liam with a look, cataloguing the shiver that runs through Liam’s body.

“Sorry, sorry,” Liam babbles, his head falling back. “Won’t move. Promise.”

“Good,” Zayn grins, diving back down. He takes Liam in deeper this time, mind going heady with the way his mouth has to expand to accommodate. Liam’s got the best dick and he isn’t even being biased. He takes him in until Liam hits the back of his throat, hands holding down Liam’s squirming hips, tongue adjusting to the weight and Liam’s intoxicating taste. When he slurps off, he uses his hand to slide up, twisting as he goes along. Zayn watches the way Liam’s body responds to his ministrations, the darkening flush on his chest, the wildness in his eyes. There aren’t enough lifetimes to truly appreciate the beauty laid out before him.

“Li,” Zayn says, blinking away some of his arousal to focus on Liam. “Liam.”

“Fuck,” Liam throws his arm across his face.

“Want to see you, babe,” Zayn chides, digging his thumb into Liam’s slit. His chest blooms with pride with how Liam’s hips jump at that.

Liam drags his arm off his face, letting it fall to the bed. His pupils are so wide, the brown in his eyes are barely visible. Zayn can see the way the fog clears a bit when Liam focuses on him.

“I love you,” Zayn whispers.

He stares in amazement, mouth hanging open as the muscles in Liam’s body pull tense, how his body arches to meet Zayn. How he never wavers his gaze from Zayn’s eyes,  despite how hard he’s coming.

“Fuck, Li,” Zayn brings his wet hand, covered in Liam’s come, up to his mouth. He delights in the way Liam’s groan echoes through his body when Zayn wraps one of his come covered fingers in his mouth and sucks. He then takes his still wet hand and brings it to his own dick, freeing it from its confines.

“No,” Liam says weakly, still recovering from his orgasm. He bats at Zayn’s hand, circling a loose fist around Zayn’s cock. “Mine. I’m going to do it this time. Just, just give me a minute.”

Zayn grins widely, tongue poking out from between his teeth. “What happened, Liam?” he teases.

“Fucking great orgasm, that’s what,” Liam groans.

Zayn fits their mouths together, kissing Liam through his recovery and licking deep into his mouth. He’s so caught up in the kiss he lets out a surprised squawk when Liam flips them over.

“What was that?” Liam laughs.

“Nothing,” Zayn blushes, thrusting into Liam’s hand still around his cock.

“Oh really?” Liam raises an eyebrow, swooping down to suck a bruise into Zayn’s neck. He chooses that moment to tighten his palm around Zayn’s cock, squeezing gently. It sends Zayn’s hips bucking up into the tight heat, desperate to for some friction.

“Tsk, Zayn,” Liam sucks off to look at him with a cocky smirk. He loosens his hand around Zayn’s cock and Zayn is going to _cry._

“Babe,” Zayn whines, hips desperately thrusting up.

“Fuck,” Liam exhales. “You’re too much. How can anyone _handle_ you?” He twists his hand experimentally, his large fingers wrapping perfectly around Zayn’s cock, giving him the exact pressure and friction he needs.

He loses himself in it, in Liam, in the orgasm that starts deep in his bones and surges over like a wave. It pulls him under, Liam’s kisses and gentle hands the only thing keeping him afloat.

\---

The second time Liam makes his come that night, he drags them out of bed. Sex built up an appetite, he’d complained earlier.

“Liam,” Zayn chides, wrapping his arms around Liam who’s about to pull the chips from the oven. Zayn places his hands protectively over Liam’s naked dick. “You can’t just open ovens naked. What if you damaged this?”

“Is that all you care about?” Liam smirks, closing the oven.

“I still have to find out all its capable of,” Zayn bites at Liam’s ear. He rubs his own naked cock into Liam’s arse, delighting at how Liam’s cock twitches.

“Food,” Liam says sternly, emptying the chips into a plate and stumbling to the sofa, Zayn hanging off his back. He leans his back on the arm rest of the sofa, slinging his legs over Zayn’s when they seat themselves down.

Zayn hadn’t realised how hungry he’d been, devouring most of the chips, exchanging lazy conversation. When he’s satisfied his hunger, he leans back, rubbing his hands leisurely on Liam’s thighs. It takes him a few moments to notice that Liam’s stiffening up again. Zayn bites his lip, eyes raking over Liam’s large hands clutching onto the plate, his pink lips moving as he talks. Liam doesn’t seem to have noticed his body’s reaction, or if he has, he can’t be deterred from the point he’s trying to make.

“Woody and Buzz were meant for each other,” Liam’s saying, chewing on some chips. “I hated that they paired him off with Jessie.”

Zayn nods his head distractedly. Most of his attention is directed to wrapping a hand around Liam’s cock and bringing him to full hardness. Liam pays no heed to his ministrations, continuing his rant about how Woody and Buzz are soulmates. The occasional stuttering in his words are the only indication of how affected he’s becoming.

“Stupid Hollywood and their need to make everything heterosexual,” Liam grumbles, licking the salt off his fingers and putting the plate on the coffee table. “What do you think?”

“Huh?” Zayn says eloquently, using his other hand to fondle with Liam’s balls.

“You’re not even listening,” Liam pouts.

“Totally listening,” Zayn promises, unable to resist his lips and pressing a quick kiss to it. “Woody and Buzz for life,” he says seriously. He presses his thumb into Liam’s slit, smirking at how his body shivers.

“Oh,” Liam lets out, finally catching on. “You’re, you’ve,” he clears his throat and throws his head back, allowing Zayn to work him into a frenzy. When he comes back up he glares at Zayn, “You can’t just do that.”

Liam pushes away Zayn’s hands moving to straddle him. “Anyone tell you it’s rude to try and get someone off while they’re talking to you? I was having a very serious conversation.”

“How are you still coherent?” Zayn gasps, Liam’s hardness digging into his own. He hadn’t realised he’d been sporting a proper stiffy too.

“How are you using words like ‘coherent’ right now?” Liam shoots back, kissing Zayn hard, following his head when it fall back against the sofa.

Zayn whines in response, hips jumping to meet Liam’s. His mouth goes slack when Liam wraps a hand around the both of them, the mixture of the silkiness of his cock and the muscles in his hand doing wonders to Zayn’s body.

“Don’t stop,” Zayn pleads, unable to open his eyes or stop the mindless thrusting of his hips.

“Won’t” Liam promises, using his other hand to guide Zayn back into a kiss.

Their second orgasms come in unison, warm come mixing over Liam’s hand and in between their bodies.

\---

The third time Liam makes him come that night, he wakes Zayn up from his sleep, kissing his way down Zayn’s stomach. Zayn decides that this is most definitely the best way to wake up.

“I’ve created a monster,” Zayn sighs, sleepily running a hand through Liam’s curls, relishing in the way Liam’s lips feel against his sleep sated skin.

Liam pops up from the base of Zayn’s cock, lips stretched obscenely into a wide smile. “Got up to take a piss and couldn’t resist you.” He comes up to kiss at Zayn’s sleepy mouth, his tongue pulling Zayn further into the realm of consciousness. “You’re kind of unfairly gorgeous, you know?”

“You are,” Zayn protests, pulling Liam down to kiss him.

“Can I try something?” Liam asks.

“Anything,” Zayn says against his lips.

“Cool,” Liam smiles cheerfully. He promptly slithers down Zayn’s body stopping to rest at his cock. “I’ve read up a lot about blow jobs and watched plenty of porn, so I _should_ be fine. But tell me if I’m not doing something right, okay?”

“Oh, fuck,” Zayn squeezes his eyes. This boy is going to be the death of him. “I thought you wanted to take it slow?”

Liam grins, licking across the head of Zayn’s cock. Zayn’s body trembles at the sensation, completely awake now.

“What’s the point of slow when we have forever?” Liam asks, all fake innocence. And then he promptly closes his lips around Zayn’s tip, sending Zayn into an early grave.

\---

**This Town.**

When Niall was nine years old, his parents had gotten into a messy divorce. It resulted in his family separating, his brother choosing to live with their mum, while Niall stayed behind with his dad. It had broken up Niall’s little family unit, pieces of himself thrown apart.

Since then, Niall had tried valiantly to find himself his own family. People he could call his _home_.

And so began his search.

He loved Mullingar. He grew up in Mullingar. But it was a small town, a town that didn’t have what he was searching for. Who he was searching for. So he left. He’d travelled through Ireland and then the UK, always seeking and never finding. When he landed in London he’d felt a tug. Something he’d only ever experienced in Mullingar, so he’d stayed. Used the inheritance from his great uncle to buy a beat up pub. He’d figured, he told himself when he’d signed the contract, that a pub was the best place to meet people. Maybe, one day, one of the faces that’d walk through the door would be who he’d been looking for.

Then one day. The day after his twenty third birthday. The day after he’d been surrounded by hundreds of friends who filled every tiny nook and cranny of his pub, and Niall had realised that _still_ none of them were what he was looking for. On that day, Niall had walked into a pub that wasn’t his own. From behind the bar, amongst a crowd of strange faces and drunken static, Niall’s years of searching finally ended.  He saw a tall, green eyed, floppy haired charmer who openly flirted with everyone, but only had eyes for one. He saw a dark haired, fucking god in human form who had a fierce protective streak that ran deep, but was able to take off his layers for those he loved. He saw a blue eyed imp, loud and snarky, but could still be rendered speechless. He saw a careful boy who wore his heart on his sleeve and his penchant for fun like a secret weapon.

He’d taken one look at the first time the four boys stood together and it clicked. He just knew.

Now though, now that he’s standing behind the bar of his own pub, the odd Sunday strangler ambling in, Niall thinks he went wrong. His notebook lies open on the bar, pages worn and thin, filled with odd scribblings and tallies. He stares at it, rubbing his eyes every so often, frowning at the words, the dates, the conclusions at the end of each day, and he wonders where he went wrong. So horribly, utterly, fucking, _wrong_.

“Morning, sunshine,” a deep voice greets.

“Okay, I have to know what’s in there,” a much higher, raspier voice complains.

Niall lifts his head blearily and sees Harry, Louis, Zayn, and Liam standing in front of the bar. He frowns at them. Rubs his eyes and blinks again.

He still sees Harry, Louis, Zayn, and Liam standing there. But this time, he sees Harry and Louis, Zayn and Liam standing there. He sees Harry and Louis standing with hands intertwined, Zayn with his arm around Liam’s waist and Liam with his hand in Zayn’s back pocket. He notes sizeable love bites scattered over their necks and his mouth falls open.

They’re all beaming back at him.

“When?” Niall asks.

“Last night,” Liam replies happily, pecking a kiss to Zayn’s lips.

He can’t help it.

Niall drops his head into his hands and he starts sobbing, a year of pent up frustration and anger and relief overwhelming him.

“What the fuck?” Harry startles.

He hears rather than sees them round the counter coming to stand next to him, running soothing hands down his arms and back. Liam pours out a pint and slides it into Niall’s hand.

“Babe,” Zayn sounds worried, “what’s going on?”

Niall wordlessly hands them his notebook, too choked to talk right now.

Louis takes the proffered book, “What is this?”

“Feb 1st,” Zayn reads, over Louis’ shoulder, “walked in on L about to kiss H. Bad timing. But they’re getting close.”

“What?” Harry sounds from behind Niall. “Let me see that.” He grabs the book from Louis and flips, “March 6th, Z’s face when Li said he’s going to break up with J. Z thinks he’s subtle, he’s not.”

“April 20th, H said one night stands are meaningless. Broke L’s heart. Z hand on Li back. This trip might be the turning point.” Louis reads. He rounds on Niall, more curious than anything else, “Explain.”

“Let’s sit, yeah?” Liam suggests, handing out pints to the rest of the boys. Nobody protests, joining Liam at a booth.

When they’re all squished in, Niall feels four pairs of eyes wait on him expectantly.

“The entire book,” he starts, “is filled with notes about you lot. Your relationships.”

“Yeah,” Harry shakes his head, “you’re not making any sense.”

Niall sighs, his eyes itchy with drying tears. “It’s just a notebook filled with observations. At first I thought it would be funny. Harry always talks about the power of observation, so this started off as a personal game. To see if I could accurately predict when you’d pull your heads out of your arses and admit your feelings for each other. I wanted to see if I could figure out which couple would get their shit together first. Haz and Lou, or Li and Zayn.”

There’s silence at the booth. He has no idea what any of them are thinking, much too scared to look at their faces and see the anger. Or the shame. He can’t handle it.

“December 16th,” Harry breaks the silence. “I’ll suggest watching a scary movie. Bound to make them snuggle.”

Niall thinks back to that day, how they’d watched _Ringu._ He’d had nightmares for days, but it had been worth it just to watch how Liam had hid under Zayn’s arm the entire movie, how Harry buried his face in Louis’ neck. He’d sat with both arms around each couple that night, feeling like the king of the world. 

“You manipulated us,” Harry says. “That is not how observation works. Haven’t I taught you anything?”

“Yeah, well,” Niall sputters _._ “You were all so scared of doing anything. If I hadn’t interfered, we’d still be doing this song and dance till next year.”

Zayn takes the notebook from Harry, flipping until he finds a particular page. “April 10th: think it worked!! Eat, pray, love, can always count on good, old Julia.”

“Wait, what?” Liam asks, staring at the book in Zayn’s hands.

“I just needed to plant the seed of the trip in Harry’s head,” Niall shrugs. “I knew the movie would work. Figured once I got you lot away from here, you’d be more inclined to explore your feelings. Love always happens on vacations.”

“Why Harry?” Louis asks, after first snorting at Niall’s explanation.

“He’d been growing restless with work, was constantly talking about travelling. The thesis problems just cemented it,” Niall explains. The beer is bitter going down his throat, not providing the normal comfort it usually does.

The silence returns. It eats at Niall and he starts to feel the beginnings of his claustrophobia. He’s always been able to read them. Right now, he finds that he can’t.

“Why did you cry?” Liam asks. He’s sitting beside Niall, has a warm palm on Niall’s knee and it helps a bit.

Niall feels the tears starting to return, “I thought I’d broken you up. Broken us up.”

Louis lets out a long, suffering sigh. “You’re an absolute idiot. Liam hit him for me, will you?”

Liam slings an arm around Niall’s neck instead, pulling him in close until Niall can’t breathe. He finds he’s not too bothered by it.

“As if we can break up,” Harry scoffs. “Hey, Zayn, pass me that book will you? I want to see what other things he’s noticed.” He stands up to reach across the table for the book and on his way back, plants a very wet kiss to Niall’s nose. “Not sure why, but still love you.”

“He’s an evil genius,” Zayn comments, ruffling the bit of Niall’s hair he can get to. Under the table, Louis’ got one of Niall’s ankles trapped in between his own.

“Fuck,” Niall tries to play off the overwhelming giddiness, that they’re not pissed, they’re still here for him. With him. “You owe me your firstborns. You four have taken years off my life.”

“Uncle Nialler,” Louis grins.

He frees his head from Liam’s arm, the happiness a whiplash to the utter despair he’d been feeling. “Kiss for me now. I want to see the fruit of my labours.”

He gets flipped off by four middle fingers, but he also gets to see Zayn slip Liam the tongue and hear Harry whine when Louis nibbles on his lip, so really, Niall isn’t complaining.

“Happy?” Zayn asks, wiping at his mouth.

“Very,” Niall grins, raising his pint.

One day, the day after his twenty third birthday, Niall’s life had changed. In these four boys, he had found what he had spent his life searching for.

He had found his home.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Come say [hi](https://backonefish.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Tumblr post [here](https://backonefish.tumblr.com/post/161662202631/pyar-dhosti-hai-love-is-friendship-pairing)


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